


Buried Memories

by BellaBix



Series: Aethelind's Legacy [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abusive Dursley Family (Harry Potter), Albus Dumbledore Bashing, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Badass Mother Lily Potter, Book 1: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Eventual Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, F/M, Good Severus Snape, Good Slytherins, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Mentor Severus Snape, Severitus | Severus Snape is Harry Potter's Parent, Slytherin Harry Potter, Smart Harry Potter, Wordcount: Over 100.000
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:01:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 25
Words: 118,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27175603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BellaBix/pseuds/BellaBix
Summary: On Harry's 10th birthday, he falls gravely ill. So ill that the Dursleys, after days of leaving the boy in agony, are forced to take him to the hospital. When Muggle medicine fails, Severus Snape is the one to answer the call for aid. He soon realizes that all he has been told of the boy's 'pampered', 'loved' and 'spoiled' life have been utter fabrications.When Severus sees the depths to which Albus Dumbledore is willing to sink to play games with their lives, he decides he must protect the boy from the Headmaster, before it is too late.* * *
Relationships: Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter, Harry Potter & Severus Snape, Neville Longbottom & Harry Potter
Series: Aethelind's Legacy [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2120835
Comments: 1154
Kudos: 2974
Collections: BooksToMonitor, Waiting for updates





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Later on in this work there will be some mentions of violence when Severus Snape begins looking back over his Death Eater days. There is a purpose to this, but I will provide warnings on the chapter itself.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

On Harry's 10th birthday, he fell ill. So ill that the Dursley's, after a few days of leaving Harry stuffed in his cupboard hoping the problem with resolve itself, had to take him to the hospital.

Harry didn't have the energy to eat. To sip water or nibble at the stale bread rolls the Dursley's shoved in the cupboard for him.

It wasn't like Harry had the most varied diet living with the Dursleys, he was lucky to get a meal at all, but after a few days with no water or food, even the sturdiest of humans will starve to death. So, when Harry showed no sign of improvement, his Aunt begrudgingly dragged him to a bustling Surrey A&E.

Harry lay prostrate in the back seat, with Aunt Petunia grumbling up front as she drove.

His skin felt like it was on fire. Every single inch of it. From his hair to his fingertips and toes.

It was a sizzle, as if he'd been set alight. And it had been like that for days. His insides curling and burning, gurgling like an over-boiled pot.

There was no relenting. He couldn't sleep, just every now and then pass out from the pain, whimpering into unconsciousness before coming back to himself, an hour or two later, with fresh torture blazing him awake.

"Shut it, boy," Aunt Petunia hissed as she dragged him through the entrance to the hospital, the bright artificial light stinging his eyes. "Stop making such a fuss!"

Aunt Petunia dragged him to the reception area and tried to give his details while he hung for dear life onto the counter.

Then everything went black and he felt the world dip.

He woke up in agony. In a hospital bed, with a woman in a white coat standing at the end of his bed. Aunt Petunia frowning and gnashing her teeth as she listened to the woman speak.

He tried to sit up but then a fresh wave of pain knocked him on his back again.

"Harry? Harry, lay back now. I'm going to give you a sedative," the woman said, rushing to his side and barking orders at another woman in the room. "I'm Doctor Garnet, I need you to tell me where it hurts."

"Everywhere," Harry whimpered. He could feel the tears spill. "H-hurts--"

"Okay," Doctor Garnet pulled on some gloves and fussed with something then, injected it into a tube attached to his arm.

The world went fuzzy and dim after that.

The next few days were a buzzing, fading mess of darkness and pain. Every now and then he'd wake, find a sweet-toned nurse cleaning him or Doctor Garnet asking him questions.

Where did it hurt?

Everywhere. His skin, his muscles, his scalp and his teeth. His nose and his jaw and his bones and his feet.

How do you feel?

Awful. Like someone had carved up his skin and sprinkled it with salt. Pounded his wounds with a hammer and cracked his bones to a pulp.

Nausea and agony. That was everything he knew. He had no idea how much time had passed when he woke one day, eyes still closed but the world around him slowly fading into noise and coherency.

"Absolutely _not_ ," Uncle Vernon hissed. "Not in a million years. Let the boy die. Better off for everybody, I say."

"We _can't_ ," Aunt Petunia growled. "If he's gone then so will the payments."

"They don't have to know."

"They'll find out. They have their freakish ways of tracking things. _Demons_ looking after their money. They'll find out."

Uncle Vernon growled. "We could just leave him here. If he's sick here then he's not at home with us."

"If they find out--" there was the click of footsteps as someone stepped into the room.

"Excuse me," a sweet-toned voice said. "Any luck eating his lunch today?"

"Oh, no dear," Aunt Petunia cooed, "poor darling can't keep anything down."

"Oh, how awful," there was the click of plastic as the woman picked up a tray. "Well, maybe tomorrow."

They waited until the click of heels were gone, then Aunt Petunia's voice turned hushed and acrid.

"If anything happens to him, Vernon--" she stopped abruptly, "these people are dangerous. We don't want to anger them."

There was a long, bleeding silence. The hushed sound of hospital chatter and a musty, clinical smell as Harry curled silently in the sheets, skin still burning. Muscles on fire.

"You know someone?" Vernon hissed. "One of--" he stopped, "one of _them_?"

"I have an old number," she whispered. "Lily's... friend."

Uncle Vernon growled like a dying bear. "Fine. Let's get this over with."

That was one of the last comprehensible things Harry remembered. He didn't know how much time passed after that. No concept of hours or days. Or even weeks.

The next thing he knew was being startled awake by a strange taste on his tongue. Hanging over him was a dark figure. Blurred by Harry's lack of glasses.

Harry could just about make out hanging black hair, like dark curtains, surrounding a pale face.

Harry hissed with pain. Whimpering.

Something was pressed to his lips.

"Drink," said a deep, icy voice, brokering no arguments.

Harry did as he was told, nearly hurling the drink back up again it tasted so vile. But he managed to swallow it down anyway.

Harry lay back and heard the man begin to chant in a strange language Harry didn't recognize. A bright, white light gleamed from the end of a stick and Harry realized he must be dreaming.

He lay back and breathed, feeling a numbness finally drown out the pain for the first time in a long time. And it was so wonderful he nearly drifted back off to sleep.

The dark man clicked his fingers. "Awake," he snarled. "I would not have woken you unless it were necessary. Now, describe your symptoms."

"Pain," Harry breathed. "Everywhere."

There was an aggravated huff. " _Specifics_ , Potter. What manner of pain. Where in particular is it most prevalent?"

Harry swallowed and tried to think. "Burning," he whispered. "All along my skin and my muscles and my--my bones. And my chest hurts--"

"Where? How?"

Harry touched the center of his torso, above his naval. "Hot and..." Harry hissed, feeling the pain begin to creep back. "Stings."

Harry heard the man swear. "The pain's returning already?"

Harry nodded, whimpering. "Hurts."

"Blasted Muggles," the man growled. He grabbed Harry by the shoulder. "Sit up."

"C-can't," Harry sniffled. "Burns."

"Damn it all," the man growled, then threw the sheets off of Harry and grabbed the boy under the armpits and below his knees, hauling him into his arms. "Hold tight."

Harry did, clutching at the man's shoulders, hot tears falling from his cheeks onto the man's black clothes. He felt a wrenching sensation in his gut and a whirl, like they were twisting very quickly around a merry-go-round. Far, far too fast.

Harry whimpered and swallowed down his nausea when the spinning stopped, clutching tight.

The man ran, Harry jumbled up and down in his arms as they rushed. There was a gentle breeze and a quiet hum of birds.

When Harry opened his eyes he saw a forest in the distance, silhouetted by either a sunrise or sunset. Harry didn't know which.

Where were they, Harry wondered. How did they get here?

The answer, of course, was obvious.

He was dreaming. So he wasn't really here at all.

The path stretched as the man ran, Harry bundled in his arms, huffing and swearing under his breath while the burning swelled in his chest again, stinging and spreading until his skin and muscles were aflame again.

Harry hissed and breathed, tears falling.

He couldn't bear this any longer. He couldn't do it. He wanted to die, it was so bad. Dying would be better than this.

When Harry next opened his eyes, they were inside. Hurrying past ornate windows carved into stone walls. They dashed past portraits that moved and suits of armor that curiously turned their heads when they passed.

The man carried him up several flights of stairs while the staircases twisted and moved by themselves.

He didn't know how many staircases they ascended before they were rushing through a hallway and into a room filled with hospital beds and white privacy curtains. The man rushed to a bed and set him down.

"Your efforts to avoid retching on me have been noted and appreciated," the man said, throwing the cover over Harry as the boy shuddered, curled up and shivered. "I will be a moment."

The minute felt like an hour. Harry curled up and tried not to whine. Not to whimper, like Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia told him not to, but it hurt. Everything hurt. His whole body. Twisting and burning.

Harry heard a door burst open and two sets of feet hurry forward.

"--should have sent him to St. Mungo's!"

"Oh yes, fine idea. Have me of all people burst in carrying the Boy-Who-Lived in unbearable pain. What could possibly go wrong?"

"Hush! Symptoms?"

"He's experiencing pain at his magical core. I believe his symptoms begin there. Spreading out to his skin, muscles and bones. It appears they've left him like that for days."

"Merlin above," the woman hissed, rushing to his side. "Grab the pain reli--"

"I gave him some," the man said. "I wore off in mere seconds."

"Magic save him, that poor darling," the woman hissed and then hesitated. " _Ostende Mihi Magica Potentia!_ "

The woman gasped.

Harry could feel a bright glow emanating from his chest.

"What is this?"

"Get Albus," the woman rasped, her voice low and panicked. " _Now_."

Harry heard footsteps hurry away and the woman clatter over to a cupboard, glass clinking as she grabbed something and rushed to Harry's side.

"Mister Potter," she said, "when did the pain start?"

"B-birthday," Harry whispered, "woke up with it."

" _Merlin_ ," she breathed, "you poor dear." A wet cold cloth dabbed at his forehead. "We'll get you fixed up. I promise."

Harry exhaled in a sharp short puffs, his chest burning like an inferno. He felt the world slip as he passed out.

Then he woke again to hushed voices.

"--would cause this sort of reaction?" Came the familiar voice of the dark man. "His core is practically on fire."

"It's hard to tell," the woman said. "A spell, I believe. One cast at his birth. It was not uncommon practice for parents to cast protective or power-amplifying spells at birth, once upon a time."

"That's _Blood_ Magic, Poppy. The Potters would never cast such spells."

"Someone did," the woman replied. "It was set to last him until his tenth birthday, then be replaced or renewed, but without a parent to do so--"

"It's burning out?" The dark man asked. "Merlin, why would they risk such a dangerous spell?"

"It's not the spell that's the problem," she whispered. "His core is protecting him."

"Protecting him?" Came another voice. Soft and low. Like a kindly old gentlemen. "This seems a rather counter-productive way of doing so."

There was a hesitation. "I did a full diagnostic," she whispered. "He's malnourished. His organs are half-way to failure. His body is damaged and starved of nutrients. His magic can tell that if it allows the spell wear off, the shock could kill him. His core is desperately trying to maintain stasis, but holding the change off is causing him unbearable pain. And when it becomes too weak to..."

There was a long, uncomfortable silence. "Poppy, my dear, you must be mistaken--"

" _Don't_ , Albus," the woman hissed. "I know a neglected child when I see one. He'd be dead already if he were Muggle." She inhaled a breath and exhaled again like she were steadying herself. "I'll start him on Nutrisi. But he'll need a whole regimen of potions to undo the damage. When he's well enough, his body will stop preventing the spell from fading. Until then, he's left to suffer unbearable pain the likes of which I can only compare to a _Crucio_."

There was a pause. "Severus, I think perhaps you should leave. You shouldn't be--"

"I think not, Albus," the dark man growled. "It is becoming abundantly clear you cannot be trusted with the boy's welfare."

The man's returning voice was low and warning. "Severus--"

" _Leave_ ," the dark man hissed, "leave before I _Crucio_ you myself."

There was a clatter of steps toward the cupboard and the dark man whispered to the woman, Poppy, asking for the names of potions.

When Harry opened his eyes, he could make out the blurred figure of a man with a long, white beard. He was standing a little way off, staring at Harry as if analyzing him.

Then a dark figure slammed past him, almost knocking him aside.

"Head up," the dark man said, firm and urgent, "drink this."

Harry did as he was told. This potion tasted of a thousand of the worst, most pungent vegetables and fungus. He winced as he swallowed it down. His head swimming from the pain.

The woman passed over more potions, more vials of foul-tasting wretchedness and Harry tried very hard not to throw them all up again. He felt a cold wet cloth pat his forehead.

"Here, one more to help you sleep," the man told him, then pressed the potion to Harry's lips. He drank it down and then the world slipped into nothing.

#

Usually Severus would be thrilled by the opportunity to try something new. Most of these potions were Healer-grade and complex to the point of almost impossible.

For the layman, at least.

Normally, it would be a delight to try his hand at them, but with the memory of the boy shuddering and wracked with pain, any lingering enjoyment in the brewing process had been utterly decimated.

Something was utterly, unbearably wrong.

He knew it from the moment Petunia made the call. The way she referred to him. _"Lily's brat."_

She'd spat her sister's name like poison.

 _"The boy's one of yours,"_ she'd growled, _"you fix him."_

One short phone call had sharply thrown any lingering conviction in the happy fiction that Albus had fed him.

 _'Pampered'_ , _'loved'_ , _'spoiled'_ , the old man had told him.

And then he'd gone and seen him. Shivering with sweat and whimpering in pain. His wrists thin and tubes sticking from him his arm and out his nose.

Utterly alone in the middle of visiting hours. With nobody there to comfort him or hold his hand.

Severus swirled the first brew, checking the blood red consistency of the Zemra Tincture and inhaling the fumes. He bottled as many as he could from the mixture. Then set them in the first tray. Then he moved to his next cauldron, checking and bottling the Pfferter brew.

When the tray was full and the last of the phials capped, he grabbed it and swept from the room, rushing as swiftly as he could to the hospital room.

Poppy was still fussing over the boy, checking his vitals like a woman obsessed. All this was already beyond her purview as a Medi-Witch, but Albus had put his foot down at the suggestion of a Healer.

 _"Too many prying eyes will endanger the boy's safety,"_ the old man had claimed. _"I must find someone we can trust, first."_

That, of course, could take days. Days which they had not the time for. Not with the boy in such agony.

"Here," He set the tray down on the bedside and passed her the first phials of the Zemra Tincture and Pffetter Brew. "A week's worth at least."

"Thank you, Severus," Poppy whispered, grabbing them quickly. "Mister Potter," she stroked the boy's hair whispering his name as she tried to wake him, but there was not even a flutter. "He's passed out."

"Wideye Potion?" Severus asked.

"Please."

Severus swept to the cupboard and grabbed a phial then rushed back and handed it to the woman.

The boy hissed as he awoke, whimpering already with the pain but managing barely to keep from crying out.

"Mister Potter," Poppy muttered, voice careful and sweet, "I have some potions for you. They should help."

The boy swallowed and nodded, slowly opening his eyes. She uncorked the Zemra Tincture and he drank down the sticky red concoction with a twisted face at the taste. Next was the Pffetter Brew. He swallowed it down and breathed slowly, in and out as he waited for the potions to work.

Then he his eyes fluttered open with shock and a sigh escaped his lips. "I... feel better."

Poppy breathed with relief. "Thank magic for that."

Severus closed his eyes and swallowed. "Good," he muttered, then opened his eyes, "good work Poppy."

The Medi-Witch smiled in return. "And you."

"What did you give me?" The boy croaked, voice still hoarse.

"Those were the final two in a course of Healer-grade health potions. The most complicated of the lot and the most important. They're fixing most severe of your organ damage."

"Organ damage?" The boy rasped.

"Your body, Mister Potter," Severus began, "has been struggling to cope under the weight of a number of health issues, caused by your... less than ideal living circumstances. Your parents appear to have imbued you with a spell at birth, most likely protective, and in an attempt to keep you from dying of shock, your magical core was trying to keep the effects from wearing off. We have stopped the pain by trying to fix the damage to your body, thus allowing the spell to fade naturally without damage."

"A spell?" The boy whispered. He was silent for a moment. "Like magic?"

Severus froze. A horrible foreboding spreading through him. "Exactly."

The boy was quiet for a moment, blinking up at him with those big green eyes. "I'm... not dreaming, am I?"

"No."

The boy blinked, green eyes wet and an understanding flooding across his face like freedom. "Magic is real?"

Severus swallowed and nodded. "Yes."

The boy licked his lips. "And my mother and father... were magical?"

"Your mother was a witch," Severus whispered, setting a hand on the boy's arm. "Your father was a wizard. As are you."

The boy pressed his lips together, then shut his eyes.

Severus looked at Poppy. The Medi-Witch was scowling at the realization. A fury in her eyes. "What do you know about your parents, young man?"

The boy blinked and wiped his eyes. "They... they died. In a car accident when I was one," Potter whispered, worrying his lip, "Aunt Petunia said they were... drunk."

A flood of rage swept through Severus's body. Like molten silver, ready to be forged into a blade.

"No," Severus slowly reached forward and touched the boy's forehead, brushing his thumb across his scar. "Your parents were hero's. Hero's who died protecting you."

The boy looked up at Severus as if he were a dark angel come to sweep him to safety. Adoring. His voice was a whisper as he spoke. "Please... tell me about them."

#

The dark man told him about his mother most of all. Lily. How she was sweet and caring, how she loved Harry more than anything. That she had eyes as green as Harry's and glorious auburn curls. That she was talented in Charms and Potions. That she died trying to protect him from the Dark Lord, who'd come to kill Harry and been banished from his mortal body after a failed Killing Curse.

He was brief with Harry's father, telling him that he was beloved by many, fostered many friendships and spent his last breath trying to hold off the powerful Dark Lord. Harry's father, like his mother, died protecting him. Even when he was outmatched and knew he had no hope. He held him off to buy his son and his wife time.

They weren't drunks, or deadbeats, or deviants.

They were hero's.

Hero's who loved Harry so much they died trying to save him.

"Why did I live?" Harry whispered. The question rolling around in his mind, most of all. "Why didn't it work? The Killing Curse."

The man hesitated at that. "It is hard to know for sure," he said. "I know someone who'd have us believe that love was the cause. That Lily dying in her attempt to protect you was a kind of old, pure light magic. One of the most ancient magics, which cast an almost unbreakable protection on you."

Harry paused. "Is that what you believe, sir?"

The man was silent for a long while, his hand tightened slightly on Harry's arm. He'd held onto Harry like that for a while. Gentle and grounding, like he was trying to keep Harry from floating away.

"I believe..." the dark man hesitated, "I believe that your mother was a powerful and adept Witch, who mastered every domain she set her mind to. I believe that it would be a mistake to discount that completely and throw it all onto a matter of luck and chance."

Harry just barely smiled at that. "You think she tricked him?" He asked. "Outsmarted him, somehow?"

Harry could just about make out a fuzzy smirk on the man's pale lips, though Harry's glasses were still missing. "I like to believe so." The man said. "It would be... a fitting irony, given his beliefs about Muggle-borns, such as her. But I have no proof. Just a notion."

Harry nodded. "I prefer your story."

The man was smiling now. He squeezed Harry's arm slightly. "As do I."

Harry felt just about well enough to sit up. The man helped him, propping his pillows up behind him and fixing his bedding in place. "Do you know where my glasses are?" Harry asked.

"Ah," the man chuckled, "I may have left those in that Muggle hospital during the fuss. I will procure you a new pair."

"Thank you," Harry smiled. "Um, sir... What should I call you?"

The man barked a throaty sound. "I usually pride myself on my skills of efficacy and control but I seem to have abandoned them somewhere in the last forty eight hours." The man huffed. "My name is Professor Severus Snape. You may refer to me as Professor or Sir, as is considered polite in Wizarding society. The woman who has been Healing you is Madam Pomfrey, the Medi-Witch here at Hogwarts."

Harry licked his lips. "Hogwarts the magic school," he said. He waited for the man to nod. "And why was I brought here and not, you know, to a magical hospital?"

He could have sworn he saw a smirk on the man's face. "Well noted," he said, tone dripping with pride, "I am afraid the details of exactly why are currently being kept strictly confidential, but I can tell you that you are quite famous in the magical world and arriving at a Wizarding Hospital in your state would have caused rather a stir."

"I'm famous?"

"Yes," Professor Snape replied. "You are the only person in recorded history to have survived a Killing Curse and you, according to the majority, were the one to defeat and eliminate the Dark Lord. You are often referred to, by the dimwitted masses, by the moniker 'The Boy-Who-Lived'."

"So I'm famous because I didn't die with my parents," Harry winced and looked away. "Great."

Snape paused, then slowly set a hand on Harry's shoulder. "It may not be a pleasant memory but your parents fought for you to their last breath, and likely saved you because of it." He squeezed gently. "Don't be ashamed of that. Honor it by living and making them proud." Then he hesitated. "Though, I must admit to being glad you don't relish the spotlight like a preening braggart."

"No, sir." Harry chuckled. "No risk of that happening. Promise."

The man smiled. "I'm glad."

"Severus," a voice called, low and quiet, a rumbling sound like a purring cat. Harry looked over to the doorway and just about made out a man in turquoise robes with a long white beard. "My office, if you have a moment."

The Professor hesitated. His hand sliding off Harry's shoulder as he straightened and turned. "Yes, sir. I will be only a moment."

There was a pause as the man stepped away. Then Snape turned to Harry. "I will see you soon, Potter," he said, voice still low. "Please rest."

Harry nodded. "I will, sir."

Then in a flourish of splendid black robes, the man was gone.

#

"No," Severus said.

The word clear as a thunderclap. The pronunciation elegant but razor-edged, like a blade so sharp it didn't pause when puncturing the skin.

The old man sat at his desk, hands folded and eyes no longer sparkling in that falsely cheerful facade. The Headmaster looked grim and firm.

"You do not believe he will be well enough in a week?" The Headmaster inquired, tone warning. "Poppy seemed to think that was the requirement for returning home."

"No," Severus snarled, "it is the _minimum_ requirement to keep him from falling _gravely ill_. And _no_ , he will not be returning to that vile woman's clutches."

The Headmaster frowned. "That woman is his blood. You know that the Blood Wards are--"

"Are worth _nothing_ if the boy risks _starving_ to death," Severus scowled. "Only an utterly heartless _fool_ would send him back to those people. It is one thing to ignore the welfare of your students, Albus. It is quite enough to risk the welfare of the only boy with the power to defeat your enemy."

Albus's eyes turned hard as ice. "I will see to it that the Dursley's change their behavior."

"Oh, will you?" Severus snorted and laughed bitterly. "You'll sit them down and give them a sweet heart-to-heart. Implore to their sense of _dignity_." Severus sneered. "I assure you, Albus. Petunia has no dignity, nor pity, not for _our kind_. So long as the boy lives in their house, he is at risk."

There was a pause.

The old man's scowl faded to a neutral facade and he leaned back.

The quiet was heavy as stone.

"The boy will return there," the old man said. "The Blood Wards require it. Without them, the boy is in far more danger than the Dursleys could ever impart on him."

Severus recognized that tone well. It was the one that Master's used when their orders were not to be questioned or argued with.

Severus had heard it more often with the Dark Lord. But when Albus used it, it was irrefutable.

The man had made the boy's bed. Potter would return to the Dursleys and there was nothing Severus could do to stop it.

A horrid shudder crept up Severus's spine.

The old man didn't care.

It was despicable enough to neglect the welfare of abused students. Ones such as Severus, who'd beg and plead to be kept here for the holidays. It was another to force this boy, the boy Lily sacrificed her life to save, to live in amongst those who despised and neglected him.

They needed the boy.

And, more than that, Severus had pledged his life to protect him. Vowed it. And this man was asking Severus to break it.

Severus leaned back. Folded his arms. Mind whirring.

"What else?" Severus asked. There was more to the man's plots. More to expect than simply sending the boy home.

The Headmaster was quiet for a moment. "I believe that him being aware of your identity could be damaging to your future position as spy."

Severus felt sick. "You're going to _Obliviate_ the boy?"

"It is an unfortunate necessity."

Necessity? Severus thought not. There were better ways to deal with the problem. But he could see the determination in the old man's eyes. The resolve.

Severus closed his eyes. His throat burning. "You want me to go along with this? They told the boy his parents were drunks who killed themselves driving under the influence. Who very nearly killed _him_."

The old man was silent.

Severus wondered, absently, if the old man would try to _Obliviate_ him, too.

Soon, if he would, but not yet. Not until Severus had finished brewing the boy's potions. They were too complex for the layman potioneer. And the sale of Healer-Grade potions were controlled by the Ministry.

A couple of days, Severus realized. He had a couple of days to work with. Then the old man would do whatever he deemed necessary to continue the fiction he'd fed to Severus.

The Professor cleared his mind and packed away the memory of the boy in the hospital bed. The phone call with Petunia. He'd have to plan this carefully. Plot his approach carefully and delicately.

He opened his eyes and Occluded as he met the old man's.

"Grant me permission to speak to Petunia. To assure he will be cared for. I have experience with her and I know how to... manage her."

The old man hesitated, then nodded. "Very well, if it will ease your discomfort."

Severus stood up. "It will. Thank you, headmaster. I will need the day to procure ingredients for his next potions regimen."

The old man nodded. "The school's coffers are at your disposal."

Severus nodded and swept away. Determination fizzling in his chest.

He would find a way to shield the boy from the old fool's machinations. He would stick to his vow and protect Potter. No matter what.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

Harry awoke from a strange dream. A dream with a magic castle and a dark angel, where his parents were hero's and he was famous and loved.

When Harry opened his eyes, he was in a hospital bed, with tubes in his arm and up his nose, and the familiar clack of hurried steps outside his room.

"Harry," a kind voice said. When Harry turned he saw a smiling woman. "Good morning. I'm Doctor Garnet. Do you remember me?"

Harry nodded.

"Good," the doctor said, scribbling something on his chart. "Tell me, how are you feeling?"

"Fuzzy," Harry muttered. "My head feels like a mess."

"Any chest pain or other symptoms?"

Harry lightly shook his head, rubbing his eyes. He couldn't help but feel like he was missing something. "How long have I been here?"

"Almost ten days now."

"T-ten?" Harry choked. "Really?"

The doctor nodded. "Back and forth between departments, I'm afraid, but it seems to have been worthwhile. We were very worried about you."

Harry blinked at that, feeling a little embarrassed at the thought. People didn't generally worry about him. Or work so hard for his sake.

"Thank you," he whispered. The woman smiled and patted his shoulder. The gesture felt familiar somehow.

"No trouble," she said. "Here," she reached for the side table and picked something up for him, passing it over. "I believe your old pair suffered some damage, these are a replacement, I believe."

Harry felt something settle in his hands and he looked down.

Glasses.

Not his usual pair, but a golden wire-rimmed set with a 60s style horn-rimmed black upper half. He pulled them on and blinked a moment as the world turned fuzzy and odd. Then the glasses almost seemed to adjust to his vision and faded in and out until they were perfect.

The doctor, now clear and bright, smiled at him. "Very smart," she said. "Time for lunch, I think. Do you feel well enough?"

"Sure," he said. "I think so."

She smiled and nodded. "Wonderful. I'll be a moment."

Harry ate the lunch down like it would be taken away. With more of an appetite than he ever usually managed. His portions were usually always so small at the Dursley's, he barely managed to finish a full meal sometimes before he felt sick.

Now, not only did he easily finish his portion, the doctor came by after and handed him a banana, noticing he was practically licking the plate clean.

"Well, this is a good sign," she said, smiling. "Keep going like this and you should be out of here in no time at all."

Harry couldn't help but wince at that. Nauseated by the thought.

#

Severus couldn't for the life of him figure out why he hadn't plotted the school curriculum out sooner.

It was barely a week before classes began once more and his whole first term was a giant question mark. Usually he comported himself better than this, but he did get unusually swept up in his brewing, it would seem.

More than that, he'd apparently lost all track of his organizational system and forgotten to procure replacement ingredients for his personal supply. He was out of fish livers, cattle blood, dragon's blood, newt brains and a whole collection of flora and fauna. Not to mention his stocks of empty phials were utterly gone.

Severus glared at the empty stores and scratched items on his list. It would cost him a small fortune to replenish these.

There was something unnerving about being this disorganized so close to term. Unusual. Especially with the fuzzy, unerring disorientation he'd awoken with that day. Like the aftermath of a flu and a hangover mixed in one.

Severus Floo'd from Spinner's End to the Leaky Cauldron and endured the packed and bustling Alley beyond, filled with eager children packing for their next year at Hogwarts.

The counters at Gringotts were rammed with patrons. Lines of them all queuing up for assistance. Severus sneered and folded his arms while he waited, trying his best to avoid the elbows of the surrounding plebeians as he slowly crept toward the front.

When he arrived at the desk, the Goblin sneered at him curiously, eyes narrowed. "Severus Snape?"

The Professor froze. "Yes," he said slowly. "Why?"

The Goblin simply nodded and jumped from his perch. "TILL CLOSED!" He yelled to the patrons behind Severus, delighting in their yells of fury and indignation. Severus was about to join them when the Goblin turned to him. "Follow me."

The Professor blinked and scowled, but did as bid. He'd long since ceased attempting understand or question the machinations of Goblins. They were a class with rules and dictums of their own. Set in stone, indubitable and utterly impossible to fathom for even the best of minds.

The Goblin hastened down a corridor of black marble with gold and white entwined within. The eyes of dead Master Goblins watched on high from their portraits. Sneers curious and eyes alight with intrigue.

They stopped at a door marked with a gold Sigel rune. The Goblin tapped the door twice with his knuckles and the door snatched open, revealing another scowling Goblin within.

"Ah, Professor Snape," the Goblin said, stepping back and indicating to the chair on the opposite side of the desk within. "Please sit. We have a lot to cover."

Severus slowly stepped inside, hesitating at the seat provided for him. "What is this in regards to? Is there a problem?"

"No," the Goblin said, closing the door and warding it, before he took his seat behind the desk and pulled out a box. "Not quite. You'll see soon enough. You paid us a visit recently for a project. You explicitly told us that if you returned to the bank, to pull you aside. You'll see why soon enough."

" _I_ told you?" Severus repeated. The words circling around his head, twisting like the hands of a clock.

A project.

A project he had no memory of.

It seemed utterly impossible, and yet...

When he thought back to the missing ingredients in his store, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of confusion.

What potions had he been trialing that would use fish livers and dragons blood?

When he tried to cast his memory back to the days before, to his experimentation, his mind drew a blank.

He had been experimenting all summer, locked in his study at Spinner's End, trying new potions techniques, making meticulous notes. And yet, he couldn't for the life of him remember why he'd be using those ingredients.

" _Oblivation_ ," Severus whispered.

The Goblin sneered a smug smile and nodded. "You said it was a likelihood." He pressed his hand to the box and the magic burst like it did at the Vaults. The Goblin unpicked the lock and opened it wide.

Inside, was a Pensieve. Still filled with the silver liquid of a memory.

"My Pensieve?" Severus asked.

The Goblin nodded. "Yours. You left it here, and the memories, for safekeeping. You bought this brand new. Claimed you would need the old one kept in the open, to be inspected by... curious eyes."

The implication was clear.

Severus had known. Known not only that his memory was to be altered, but that his own home would be scoured and checked, his most personal and hidden possession, his Pensieve, would be scrutinized by the culprit.

"How long ago?" Severus asked, his thoughts whirring.

"Just over a week," the Goblin said. "You came to us six days ago, hired contractors through our services to do some work for you, kept it strictly off the books and had them swear vows and agree to be Obliviated when the work was done. The total sum of the services... took a rather large sum from your savings."

Severus swallowed.

What could possibly have been so important?

What would he have squandered his money for and why had he gone to such lengths to protect his memories.

The Goblin lifted the bowl and set it on the desk, then sat back. "I can leave you for a moment, if you wish."

Severus breathed, then shook his head and straightened, sitting forward until he could see the silver reflection of his stoic features.

He reflexively inhaled, then submerged himself in the memory.

#

There was something wrong.

Aunt Petunia came to collect Harry a couple of days later, when he was healthy enough to go. She stuffed him in the back, scowling without looking him in the eye and refusing to touch him, even when he was wobbling unsteadily on his feet.

The entire drive back, Aunt Petunia was silent. Her eyes drifting back to stare at him from the reflection of the rear-view mirror.

Harry didn't mind the quiet. He was still pretty exhausted, so he let himself drift off in the back, enjoying the quiet rumble of the radio until the engine died and Aunt Petunia stepped out the car.

She didn't bark at him to hurry up, just waited for him to get out.

Not a word.

She hadn't uttered a word since the doctor signed him off. She'd not even told him to follow her. Just waited for him to pack up and led him from the hospital.

They stepped inside and Aunt Petunia hesitated at the doorway, fiddling with her wedding ring, twisting the diamond around and around on her spindly finger. When the door was closed and Harry started walking to the cupboard under the stairs, she finally said her first word to him all week.

"Upstairs," she said, muttered like it was a dirty word.

Harry turned and frowned. "Uh, sorry?"

Petunia scowled like he was an idiot. "Upstairs. Smallest bedroom." She sneered, then slammed past him into the kitchen with a final bang of the door.

Harry stood there, blinking for a moment, trying to figure out what they meant.

Did they want him to clean Dudley's Second Bedroom? It seemed a little weird, especially so soon after leaving the hospital. The Dursley's were bad, but even that was cruel to an unbearable degree.

Harry just swallowed and started to step up the stairs, holding the railing tight as he went, as he struggled and huffed for breath.

The doctors had claimed he'd be within his right to take time off school when term started in a couple of weeks, but Harry would honestly rather be at school than here. He'd probably wind up doing chores, gardening or being insulted, as if he were a lazy deadbeat, and not a sick child recovering from a health scare that almost killed him.

He rose softly and steadily up the stairs until he was at the top. Then he stopped.

The door was different.

Not too obviously.

It was a similar white wood, with four panels and a silver door handle. But the paint was fresher. Gleaming. The handle was different. Not a plain one, but engraved and old fashioned, with a keyhole underneath.

Harry stepped forward, then hesitated.

He could feel something warm around the door.

No, not warm.

Just... welcoming. As if it gave off a fresh sort of feeling. Not heat or cold. But... something. Something that felt natural and radiant. Like a summer day.

He turned the handle.

The room had been cleared out. There was no more clutter. No more broken toys or forgotten nicknacks. There was a fresh pair of plain sheets on the bed. The desk and the top of the drawers had been cleared of junk and the window was open, letting in a gentle breeze.

His?

Was this room... Harry's now?

Why? Was it something to do with being sick?

Harry stepped inside and turned around the room, staring at it in wonder.

It felt bizarre to assume, knowing the Dursleys like he did, but... Aunt Petunia had said for him to come here.

He heard a faint pop and turned back to the desk, spotting a letter with his name on it in jagged cursive writing. He reached forward and picked it up.

It felt heavy. As if there were a large coin or a piece of jewelry inside. When he turned it over he saw a green wax seal, stamped with an SS.

The envelope was so lovely, he almost felt guilty to tear it open, but when he did and pulled out the folded slip of thick parchment inside, something fat and shiny spilled out with it and clattered onto the table.

He reached down and grabbed it.

A key. Antique-looking and embellished with a spiraling Celtic knot on the head. It hung from a chain, like a pendant. Shining silver, like the new door handle.

Harry picked it up and stared.

Was this for him? For the door.

He stared at it in wonder.

The idea of having a key to his own door was... amazing. A luxury. He'd never owned a key before. Not ever. Not even for the house. The Dursleys always said he couldn't be trusted with it.

He clutched it tight in his hand and unfolded the letter.

#

_Mr Potter,_

_Though it will no doubt confuse you to follow these instructions, without a clue as to the purpose or indeed even the sender, I must insist that you do so._

_Enclosed within is a key to your new bedroom door. I have seen fit to persuade the Dursleys to give you a place to sleep more befitting a human being and not a House Elf. But I have made some modifications to the room which will become evident shortly._

_Before you continue, I please implore you to try and calm yourself and breathe. Then, I would like you to walk to the door, close it from within and lock it with the key enclosed._

_Please only do so when there is not another person present in the room._

_Yours faithfully,_

_SS._

#

Harry scowled at the letter, getting the distinct impression that this was some sort of prank.

He was fairly sure that he didn't know anyone with those initials. Although he supposed he didn't know Mrs Sanfords's first name. But his school teacher definitely didn't talk like this. With words like 'befitting' and 'implore'.

 _What's a House Elf?_ Harry wondered, reading the letter through again.

He supposed that if Dudley had written this, he wouldn't go to all the trouble of fixing the lock and learning how to write in cursive. Dudley could barely be bothered to spell properly, let alone learn that fancy calligraphy the sender had scrawled around the initials at the bottom.

Still, Harry crept over to the wardrobe and snuck a peek inside, and then under the bed, just to be sure that Dudley and Piers Polkiss weren't hiding somewhere.

Harry stepped over to the door, peered outside one last time, and quietly closed it. Then he slipped the key in the fresh gleaming silver lock.

When he turned it clockwise and heard the click, he felt like the room was buzzing and wobbling around him and under him. He felt a little dizzy and sickly, then the feeling stopped.

He breathed until the nausea dissipated, then turned around and froze.

This _wasn't_ the smallest bedroom.

He was pretty sure this wasn't even a bedroom.

It was an _apartment_.

The room had spread to about the size of the Dursley's lounge. With a small kitchenette on one side, fitted with a strange iron cooker and a copper kettle, and a door to what looked like an actual _pantry_.

In the center of the room was a small table with one seat. On the opposite wall, either side of a giant fireplace that looked big enough for Harry to stand in, were two doors. And, ahead of the fireplace was a brown leather armchair with a furry green footstool in front.

This was an apartment.

How did he get here?

Still, when his gaze fell on the grand bay windows that made up the length of the center room, he could see Privet Drive. The man at Number Three mowing his lawn and last year's Christmas lights still hanging around Number Five's upstairs windows.

Harry was starting to think he was possibly still at hospital. Maybe he was in a coma.

Or on some really good meds.

He jumped at another soft pop and spotted a second letter on the table.

Harry stopped. Stared at it.

That definitely wasn't there a second ago.

He was pretty sure of it this time.

He scowled suspiciously at it and slowly stepped forward, sliding it from the table and turning it over.

The same green wax, stamped with the same SS. Harry chewed his lip, worrying at whether he should trust this mysterious SS at all or run from the room screaming the way he was pretty sure the Dursleys would be right now.

He tore open the envelope, slowly sliding the parchment from inside, then flipped it open.

#

_Mr Potter,_

_I am hoping that, having inspected the room and seen that it is quite real, you will be more inclined to believe me when I continue with the more unbelievable statements disclosed within._

_Magic truly exists. I have no doubt you'll still be skeptical of that statement, but upon finishing this letter I am intent to provide you with proof. You, Mr Potter, are a Wizard. As am I, in fact, and so, you may have grasped, were your parents._

_Though there is much to cover and explain, one letter will doubtless be ineffective in covering it, so I state only the necessities for this missive._

_The space you stand in has been altered by professional Wizarding Structural Designers. It begins with a basic expansion charm and a concealment charm set upon the door, to be unveiled, as you can see, at the turning of the key. It is sound-proofed and warded to avoid setting off magic-detectors, which I will explain in more detail another time. The key will not unveil the hidden space when a Muggle, or 'Non-Magical', person is present in the room._

_To one side you will find two doors. One is a bathroom that will fit your needs and prevent you from requiring the facilities of the despicable creatures you have been encumbered with. The other door leads to your new bedroom, which should be self-explanatory._

_I am afraid that it was not within my power to pull you from the clutches of the vile beasts that call themselves your family. I only wish I could. The best that I could do was provide you a safe space to avoid them and make certain that they no longer overwhelm you with chores and starve you. If they begin to do so again, I should know and I will deal with it._

_It is utterly crucial that you never speak of this space or ask about my identity to those around you. I have provided this refuge by unlawful means and there are people who may, if it is discovered, undo it or arrest me, leaving you once again at the mercy of your Aunt and Uncle._

_As to why this is happening now, you fell ill with a magical ailment, of sorts. More correctly, a complication because of a fading protective spell. In the process of curing it, my colleague and I discovered your health was failing because of neglect. I will, therefore, be providing you with health potions to counteract the years of malnourishment and destruction those disgusting animals have caused you. Please take said potions as soon as they arrive and take note of the instructions, if attached._

_And now, in closing, I would like to provide you with the as promised opportunity for proof of the existence of magic. When you are finished with this letter and feel balanced and sound, please state aloud, "Jiffy", and try not to be alarmed._

_Yours faithfully,_

_SS._

#

If Harry weren't standing in a magical apartment he would be absolutely certain the last part of the letter was a joke. But at this point it was hard to tell what was real and what wasn't.

So Harry folded the letter and stared around the room, then licked his lips and quietly said: "J-Jiffy?"

With a sudden loud pop and a burst of air, a small creature appeared, with flopping bat-like ears and pinkish skin, giant green eyes and wearing a pillowcase.

" _Bloody hell!_ " Harry yelped, jumping away.

"Master Potter!" The small creature cried, smiling eagerly as if she was utterly delighted to meet him. "I is Jiffy! Jiffy was so looking forward to meeting you! Master S told Jiffy to tell you..." she cleared her throat and stood proud and tall, "Jiffy be a House Elf. House Elves be magical beings who be magically bonded to Wizard households. Master S got Jiffy to take care of Master Potter. So Jiffy will be making Master Potter meals and giving Master Potter his potions and cleaning Master Potter's home. And when Master Potter needs Jiffy to take something to Master S, or ask Master S a question, Jiffy be doing it for you."

Harry's heart pounded like mad. Eyes wide as saucers and mouth bobbing open and shut. "H-House Elf?" He croaked.

Jiffy nodded delightedly.

Harry cleared his throat. "And Master S... got you to look after me?"

Jiffy nodded. "Jiffy was so excited to get a home! Jiffy's parents's home was not so nice and now Jiffy gets to work with Master Potter! Jiffy knows that Master Potter isn't Jiffy's true Master, but Master S said to treat Master Potter like he is. And Jiffy heard all about the Boy-Who-Lived from Flopsy and Topsy."

The Boy-Who-Lived. Harry felt a tinge of recognition at the name. Why did it sound familiar?

"The Boy-Who-Lived?" Harry asked. "Is that me?"

Jiffy nodded urgently. "Yes! Oh," she gasped. "Jiffy forgot the next letter."

Then the House Elf popped away, vanishing in a burst of air and Harry's legs nearly gave out at the sight.

This was all a little much for him, to be frank.

 _Maybe I'm still in hospital,_ he wondered to himself again, not for the last time. _Maybe they just have some really, really good drugs._

There was another pop and Harry yelped. Jiffy was standing ahead of him again holding another letter. This one was thicker and fuller. Like it held a whole thick wedge of parchment. A whole essay.

Harry picked it from her hands and stared.

Suddenly Harry got the curious feeling that the other two letters were just basic introductions, to make sure Harry knew this was real.

And this... This was the real letter.

Harry swallowed.

"Master S told Jiffy that Master Potter is to go straight to bed and Jiffy will make his lunch and he will take his potions. Master Potter should go to the door on the left."

Harry nodded and breathed. "Th-thank you, Jiffy."

She squealed so loud Harry nearly bolted. Then he saw her eyes watering and her lip trembling. "Master Potter is so kind! Jiffy will be so grateful to serve Master Potter! She promises!"

"Er--okay," Harry rasped.

"Master Potter must lie down now! He must rest!" She insisted, pointing toward the door.

Harry nodded, very pointedly not saying thank you again, because he didn't think he could take another squeal.

Well, at least he knew for sure this room... this flat... was soundproof. The Dursleys definitely would be banging on the door right now if it weren't.

The bedroom had a big window which overlooked a fresh field of grass and woodland that wasn't really there. It was only slightly more bizarre than everything else.

The bedroom held one large wardrobe, which was far bigger than Harry suspected he'd ever need, a double bed sitting on another wall and a mahogany desk overlooking the window, with drawers underneath, carved with lilies and embossed with gold. Either side of it was a pair of bookshelves, with only a few scattered titles on each.

The room didn't have switches or electric lights. Only sconces embedded in the walls with unlit candles. There was another candle on the desk and on the bedside table.

Was that a Wizard thing? Maybe they missed out on the electricity revolution. Did that mean they had no television. Or phones.

How did they communicate, Harry wondered. Were House Elves in charge of the postal service?

The bed was lined with pillows and silken green bedcovers that felt glorious when he swept his hand along the sheets.

On top was a pair of plain black pajamas, folded ready for him and a pair of sheepskin slippers on the floor below.

He gratefully got dressed, slipping easily into the soft cotton bedclothes and crawled into the silk sheets. Then he stared at the thick letter and the green SS seal on the other side.

Then he tore open the envelope and pulled the thick sheaf of parchment free and began to read.

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

Harry's mother had glorious auburn hair, curled and long. Harry had his mother's eyes. His mother's bow-shaped lips and button nose.

The picture was Non-Magical, 'Muggle'. The colors faded a little into sepia tones and there was an inscription on the back _'Lily Evans, Spinners 1969'_. She was wearing a pretty floral dress, smiling up at the camera as she sat on a swing set.

Harry stroked the picture and smiled, a stinging behind his eyes as he stared.

His mother.

He'd never seen a picture before of her. Aunt Petunia had hidden or destroyed them all. He wasn't sure he wanted to know which. But here she was. Beautiful and young. A similar age to him, smiling up at a camera like everything in the world was wonderful and pure.

Green eyes so bright and bold they were almost unreal. Just like Harry's.

Harry turned back to the letter.

_'Your mother was a bright young woman of many talents, who mastered every domain she set her mind to. During her Hogwarts Sorting, of which I mentioned before, she confided to me that she was considered for every house._

_'Hufflepuff for her loyalty and dedication to hard work. Slytherin, briefly, for her astute mind and her potential for greatness. But, aside from Gryffindor, the House which her heart eventually guided her to, Ravenclaw was her next most suitable match._

_'Your mother was a creative, intelligent and resourceful woman, who was taken from this world far too soon. But if she could speak to us, I am sure she not regret passing on for a single moment, as it was an act that likely saved your life.'_

He spent hours in bed, reading and rereading the letter. SS explained everything. The details meticulous and careful. He explained the climate before the night of Harry's parents's deaths, added clipped copies of newspaper articles about rising Death Eater attacks. Explaining why Harry's apparent defeat of the Dark Lord was so important.

_'That Samhain night, the 31st October 1981, your parents were trapped in their home. The Dark Lord set a powerful ward around their home to prevent their escape and came to kill you all. Your father fought bravely to hold him off while your mother fled with you upstairs to the nursery. But, despite your father's best efforts, the Dark Lord is more powerful than most can imagine and James Potter fell to a Killing Curse. As did your noble mother._

_'Nobody is certain why the Dark Lord's Killing Curse backfired when he turned his wand on you. One theory I have heard implies your mother death, her attempts to save you in her dying breath, cast an unbreakable and powerful protection on you. Old, Wild Magic, powered by the purest love._

_'I, myself, am not of such a sentimental mind. My own mind is fixed on my unwavering faith in Lily's shrewd intellect, cunning creativity and astonishing aptitude for magic. I do not imagine Lily cowering in the cover of a Fidelius, hoping that the Dark Lord would never find them. I imagine her plotting and planning. Studying and learning. Preparing for an attack. Preparing to protect you by any means necessary._

_'Perhaps that is wishful of me. But I cannot help but hope for it. I hope for her final act to be not only sacrificial in nature, but to have outwitted her killer and led him to his own inadvertent defeat.'_

There were more articles cuttings after that. Ones with pictures of Harry crying in someone's arms, marked with a blazing fresh scar. One's with his parents standing hand in hand, dressed in a white dress and black robes, reading their vows. The articles celebrated You-Know-Who's defeat. Mourned his parents's loss and asked the question: 'Where is The Boy-Who-Lived?' Over and over again.

There was crazy speculation and gossip on his location. Years of it. Some wondered if he'd been spirited away to another country. The mountains in Asia or the wilderness in Eastern Europe.

There were grainy pictures of him walking through the streets of London or Surrey with giddy headlines stating: 'The Boy-Who-Lived-Among-The-Muggles!' Theorizing that he'd been left with Muggle relatives and questioning the wisdom of letting a boy of such as him be raised by _'those ignorant of our world'_.

One article had a fairly clear photograph of him, taken as he stepped out of a sweet shop in his oversized school uniform. Harry remembered the day the picture was taken. He'd stepped out the store and a camera flashed brightly in his face. A strangely-dressed man shook his hand and thanked him like he was truly honored to make Harry's acquaintance, briefly asking for a statement before Aunt Petunia screeched and tore Harry away.

This photograph was set beside an old picture of his father, comparing their likenesses, down to the choice of glasses. Harry had to admit the similarities were uncanny. Right down to the unruly hair, sticking up like it was very proud to be defying gravity.

Harry's had his father's round face and full cheeks. Their proportions were the same, even if Harry had a lot of his mother's features. There were a lot more differences than the newspaper article implied. It waxed lyrical about how he was the 'spitting image' of his father. Didn't even mention his emerald green eyes, since the photograph was black and white. Pointedly ignoring his mother's likeness, for reasons that Harry suspected, having finished SS's letter, were to do with her 'blood status'.

When Harry had finished with his letter and eaten the surprisingly tasty bean and vegetable-laden soup that Jiffy had made for him, he inspected his bookshelf.

On the right shelf he found one copy of a book called _The Wizarding World: A Muggle-born Guide_ , which explained the basics of transportation, communication and the legal system _'Dos and Do Nots'_. Which was how Harry learned that Wizards used Owls to deliver their mail (Harry still thought House Elves would make more sense) and that the giant fireplace in his living room was most likely a 'Floo'. He'd have to remember to check for Floo powder, but he suspected SS hadn't left him any.

The section on government, however, was downright terrifying. From what he could tell, the same forty families had run in the same forty Wizengamot seats for the last few hundred years. They passed down from one lineage to another as time went on, with only about ten additional seats that went to employees of the Ministry. And the Wizengamot were in charge of everything. And that really meant _everything_.

The Wizengamot voted for the Minister of Magic, decided how to divvy up the riches and who got the seats for 'extinct' Houses that died without an heir. They voted on trials and even the laws that dictated the amount of property, types of employment and the Being Status that non-Wizarding Beings like Werewolves, Goblins and House Elves were entitled to.

The book breezed over this fact like it was nothing of much importance, but the thought made Harry shudder. Especially when the book mentioned the prejudices against Muggle-borns or half-blood Wizards.

The Wizarding World was run by pure-bloods. And a large number of pure-bloods were notoriously anti-Muggle. Viewing those born to Muggle parents as being akin to 'lesser beings'. And these prejudiced people ran the government, down to the very last law.

 _No wonder the Dark Lord was so easily taking over the Ministry,_ Harry thought to himself, wondering what percentage of the Wizengamot seats were Death Eaters, purists or sympathizers to the late Dark Lord.

Harry spent the day memorizing the contents of the book, learning all he could about this mysterious world he was destined to join. He learned about Quidditch and the Wizarding currency. He absorbed every chapter and each word. Thrilled and captivated.

There was a whole chapter on Diagon Alley, how to get there and what it offered. The benefits and complications of buying your own Owl and how to open a Gringotts vault.

SS had warned him that, no matter how intrigued he may be about visiting the Wizarding world, it was ill advised to go when he was expected to know nothing about it.

_'My decision to aid you has been in spite of the decision of those in charge to keep you ignorant. I speak not only of your family, whose distaste of magic leaves it unlikely they would enlighten you, but of some in a position of authority in the Wizarding World._

_'If you are discovered to be aware of the world outside your Muggle sphere, eyes will turn to me and I will likely be dealt with in a most unpleasant manner. That would, I assure you, lead to consequences for your own safety and comfort. Therefore, I implore you to wait. In a year you will receive your Hogwarts letter and you will be able to make your debut in the Wizarding World. Until then, be patient and learn what you can to prepare.'_

Harry chewed his lip and nodded.

Wait. He could wait. He was well versed in waiting. Waiting for a meal. Patiently and diligently working for what he needed.

A year.

Harry looked up at his bookshelf, spotting a copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ and smiling. A year and he'd be free of the Dursleys and back where he belonged.

Back with his own.

#

Severus had never much cared for the idea of owning a House Elf. It was a needless expense. They weren't cheap and he'd never quite lost the Muggle distaste for the possession of another intelligent Being. Especially one that groveled so unpleasantly.

But, now that the decision had been forced on him, he had to admit to enjoying the luxury of free time. Now he had Jiffy to prepare his meals, clean his clothes and organize his potions supply orders and Severus had to admit it made his days far more pleasant.

Severus had expressed a preference for porridge when Jiffy first arrived. He was a man of simple taste and the House Elf had taken it as a challenge to preparing the most delicious porridges she could.

One day she set down a bowl with Berry compote, figs and pistachios. Another day it was raspberries and coconut. And another day it was pomegranate seeds, kiwi and blueberries.

He had to admit it to be a luxurious addition to his routine that he had no intention of losing once he returned to Hogwarts.

Severus finished up the final item on the Daily Prophet crossword. Ten across: _'Ravenclaw air and Gryffindor heart'_. Hippogriff. He folded the paper away. His House Elf dutifully popped into the space beside his table to clear the table.

"With the Master S's permission," the House Elf said, bowing slightly, "Jiffy is being asked by the Young Master for the newspaper when Master S is done with it."

Severus blinked, brow lifted. "Did he?"

Jiffy nodded eagerly. "The Young Master is a'taking interest in politicals."

Politics? Severus resisted a smile. An odd subject of interest for a boy his age, but a valuable one to foster. Severus rolled up the newspaper and handed it to the House Elf.

"He is welcome to it. Send him my copies when I am finished with them from now on."

Jiffy beamed a smile and groveled a delighted thanks, calling Severus a _'wise and wonderful Master'_ until he'd grown utterly sickened by it. " _Cease_ ," he sneered. "I never want to witness that obsequious display of ghastly groveling ever again."

"Sorry, Master!" Jiffy cried then popped away with the newspaper.

Severus huffed and rose, brushing himself off, casting an _Impervious_ and walking toward the Floo. He travelled to the Headmaster's office and stepped out pristine and graceful with the rest of the staff staring expectantly at him from their seats in the circle.

"Severus," the Headmaster smiled, waving a hand toward an empty seat beside this year's Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, Charleforth Gorgon. "Just in time. Minerva will be with us in a moment."

Albus's voice was placid and delighted. A well-versed calm that was indistinguishable from the real thing. It was almost impossible to tell whether he was truly relaxed and had no suspicions on Severus's decision to protect Potter, or if he knew of the Professor's defiance.

Severus swept into his seat, folded his arms and leaned slightly away from the new professor beside him.

Professor Gorgon was a disdainful cretin. So nothing out of the ordinary. The man's Curriculum Vitae stated him as a graduate of the Auror program, but never quite explained the precise grade he'd achieved from it.

"No hard feelings about the post, eh, old boy?" Gorgon whispered, smirking victoriously like the arrogant prat he was. "I heard you'd applied too. Not to worry, I'm sure they were just looking for someone with more... _certified_ experience."

Severus hummed. "Maybe next year," Severus said, then turned away from the bewildered fool and waited for this torture to end.

He could see Albus watching him from the corner of his eye as he the other Professors tittered and caught up on their summer respite. The old man would no doubt be keeping a close eye on Severus for a while. Observing quietly as he waited for signs of confusion or memory recurrences. It was not uncommon among skilled Occlumens for Obliviated memories to slip from their unmoored locales in the deeper recesses of the mind.

It had been almost a full week since Severus had visited Gringotts, and he still struggled to Occlude his mind against the rising fury now that blasted puppet master was present.

The abuse of power was sickening. Vile.

Not only the desecration of Potter's mind, but of Severus's too. To have lied to Severus for years, letting him believe the boy was spoiled and coddled and then, when the truth was out, rob him of the ability to aid the boy. To do his duty to protect him. As he'd vowed.

At least the fool had underestimated him. But Severus had no choice but to maintain his illusions now, keep his new Pensieve under lock and key, with his memories of Potter separate from the ones in his old one. The Goblin in charge of the safe-box, Griphook, had been delighted.

His savings had taken a blow, but it would be worth it to keep the boy safe. Severus doubted he'd make it to retirement anyway.

"My apologies everyone," Minerva huffed as she rushed into the room from the door, not the Floo. Her hat was askew and her hands carried a haul of parchment and scrolls. No doubt she'd been overburdened by unhappy students challenging their grades and visits to Muggle-born students. "I was absolutely drowned in angry letters this morning. Apparently the grading of last year's NEWT DADA exam left many students unhappy with their results."

"Oh dear," Pomona said, shaking her head, "I did worry that Professor Holborn was setting up the students for failure."

"Why is that?" Gorgon inquired, leaning forward.

"He was dead set against practical work," Flitwick explained, rolling his eyes, "another of those Ministry goons that claim the true path to mastery of the subject is found through theory. They oft send them in when no DADA Professor is found for the year."

"Nobody likes to believe Defense Against the Dark Arts to be a relevant subject, in this 'post-war' climate. The Ministry believe it safer _not_ to teach students attack spells that might be used for darker purposes," Albus intoned, looking at Severus as he said it. "But as a wise man once told me, the Dark Arts are ever changing and eternal. It would be prudent for the Ministry to remember that."

Severus hesitated, then forced himself to grant a slight nod of approval, despite the overwhelming urge to spit on the old puppeteer and curse him.

"Before we begin," the old man said, "I believe Poppy had an item for the group."

"Thank you, Albus," the Medi-Witch said, hands folded on her lap. "I was doing a routine inventory of the ward's potions stores and noticed some missing."

"Missing?" Minerva frowned. "When did you last take an inventory?"

"During the exam period," Poppy said. "Which would be enough time for some students to purloin some, but what's odd is... well, the particular potions involved are for rather severe cases of nutritional deficiencies or organ damage. I hate to think why someone would need them."

Pomona gasped. "You think a student is suffering abuse?"

Poppy swallowed, mouth pursed at the thought. "I hate to think so, but I cannot think why else they'd need such potions. They took a week's worth of nutritional supplements. A large number of digestive repair formulas, enough for grave cases of malnourishment. And I found a few missing Dreamless Sleep and potions to encourage the regeneration of overtaxed magical cores."

"How worrying," Pomona said, breathing.

Severus hesitated. "I thought you had wards up on the cabinets?"

"I do," Poppy said, she shook her head. "I don't know how they got past them, but they must have been planning it out. Which makes it all the more frightening. Can I draw up a list for you to replenish my stocks?"

Severus nodded. "Of course. I will do what I can."

She smiled. "Thank you, Severus."

"Perhaps we should host physicals for the students?" Pomona said, straightening at the thought of a student in distress.

Though Severus had no great love of her house, he admired how well Sprout cared for her badgers, just as Severus took care of his snakes. He couldn't say the same for Minerva and Filius. They were good enough teachers and fine enough people, but they thought of their charges as adults who were capable of caring for themselves. It led their students to seek out more distress and illness, whether though recklessness or stress, than either of the other Houses did.

But it was not as if Albus encouraged either of them to act any different.

"I think that's a fine idea," Flitwick agreed, scratching a note on his book. "Poppy, would you be amenable to that?"

"Of course!" Poppy nodded fervently. "I've been doing it for the Slytherin's ever since Severus's started as Head. I've long since requested it become mandatory, but Albus worried the Board would overrule. If the Heads of House agree, I can go ahead and draw up a schedule."

"Wonderful," Flitwick said, "do we agree?" The Heads all nodded or spoke their assent.

Severus gave one, stately bow of his head and they continued the meeting with Poppy explaining the particulars of the physicals examinations. With Albus watching silent with a notable lack of involvement. Not that anybody said a thing.

The Headmaster had Obliviated Poppy too, then.

The one person who'd been most aware of the extent of the boy's health issues. Likely her notes had been commandeered as well. Severus would have to work off his own notes and what little he could translate of the 'Healer Jargon' Poppy had scrawled for him. At least the potions regimens were simple enough to manage.

It was a shame Poppy could no longer discuss the matter of birthing Blood Magic and whatever spell the Potters had cast on the boy that now failed.

Whatever it had been. It must have been mightily powerful.

And the idea of Lily performing Blood Magic... it was a curious thought.

Severus sat quietly as the meeting continued without his participation, monitoring the silent Headmaster from the corner of his eye.

#

Harry had his first bath since he was a baby that Thursday evening, just before dinner. It was so glorious and relaxing that he made it a nightly event.

The bathroom was beautifully designed, with a clawfoot copper tub in the center and a sconces embedded in the rustic slate walls. There was also a row of wooden counters with a copper basin and dressing area, it had a proper stool and ornate mirror to view himself in.

Harry wasn't sure why SS had bothered with the addition of a giant vanity mirror and stool, so close to the basin, then he realized it must have been for shaving. Which meant the mysterious SS intended for Harry to keep this space as his own well into his adolescent years.

This space, this apartment, was set up specifically for Harry. For him to call home for the next eight years.

Harry wasn't sure how he felt about that.

On the one hand, he loved it here. His own bathroom and bedroom. With a large desk, a comfortable armchair, a kitchenette and what basically amounted to a live-in chef and cleaner.

It was luxurious and spectacular. All his. And yet...

He was alone. He spent all day cooped up in here, reading books and sitting on the velvet grey cushions by the bay window, watching the street outside.

It was almost enough to make him miss the Dursleys.

But not quite.

By the Saturday morning, Harry was beginning to get restless. Jiffy refused to let him 'overtax' himself, so he wound up searching for anything to do.

He was used to having every moment of his spare time plotted out for chores, cooking, cleaning or just being stuffed in a cupboard. He wasn't used to having options for his free time.

So, he started building a routine. In the mornings, Jiffy brought his breakfast to his bed. Always porridge, which he was more than happy with, especially with the layers of fruit, compote, nuts or honey toppings that Jiffy made them with. Beside it were his first potions of the day and SS's copy of _The Daily Prophet_.

The mysterious man usually sent it to him when he was done, and he was a very early riser. Usually finished by six in the morning. Harry would read through the articles and stare at the finished crossword puzzle on the next to last page, admiring the quick and methodical work that SS had made of the quiz questions.

Occasionally, SS would write comments on the articles. On the Monday 20th copy, he'd scrawled a note beside the cover article 'NEW MINISTER FUDGE WINS PUBLIC'S HEARTS'. In scratched ink, SS had simply written, _'imbecile'_ beside the Minister's grinning photo. Then the name of the writer, Rita Skeeter, had been underlined and an illustration of a bug had been drawn beside it, along with the words _'bottom feeder'_.

SS's notes were usually the highlight of Harry's day. Whether it be scathing commentary on the Society Section's proclamation that Peacock feathers were this season's latest trend for pointed hats ( _'for those poseurs who prefer an utterly literal take on pleading for attention'_ ), or mocking advice for the Agony Aunt submissions ( _'if you fear your husband's infidelity, I can recommend a good potion that will eradicate the offending appendage'_ ).

Harry would chuckle at the paper as he ate his breakfast and drank his potions, then go through and underline the sections he didn't understand. The turmoil about Goblin laws that the Ministry were trying and failing to repeal. The odd addition of a Romanian weather report in the 'Potioneers News' section. And the utterly bizarre and rapidly insulting 'People to Watch' segment where people submitted the news about up and coming Bachelors and Bachelorettes. The Wizards and Witches were actually _rated,_ based on their careers, wealth, fashion choices and various society gossip.

It was genuinely horrifying how obsessed Wizards were with marriage and babies, especially when he realized that almost all the entrants for 'People to Watch' were pure-bloods. But the articles actually had some vaguely useful news in it. It had some special news about promotions in the Ministry, which first son of a famous Wizengamot member had 'thrown away' his status as Heir to marry a Muggle-born, and a number of news items on recent Hogwarts graduates who'd become eligible for apprenticeships or their Mastery's.

When Harry was finished with the articles, he usually searched through the books he'd been left by SS, trying to find answers on why an article on Troll sightings in Wales had been set in the Weather Report and why Financial News was half-written in another language which read like code.

When Harry couldn't find anything, he wrote to SS, asking the oracle himself. Usually he'd get a reply two days later explaining that Trolls tended to evacuate to woodland areas when the temperature was about to climb. That the Goblins ran the Financial Market and so most the Financial terms were constructed in their native tongue: Gobbledigook. That potions containing Dragon's blood became more effective if the Dragon in question was bled during a thunderstorm, and the premier European Dragon Sanctuary was located in Romania. And, finally, that the Ministry and been trying and failing to invalidate Medieval Goblin Laws for centuries to no avail, because the Goblins were now in charge of all their money, and had no qualms 'losing it' when the Ministry overstepped.

When Harry was finished with the paper he usually found a book to read and sat curled up on the armchair or by the bay window, with a blanket wrapped around his legs. SS had left a few sets of beaten children's books, written for young Wizards and Witches.

It didn't take long for Harry to get most of the way through the _'Auror Underhill'_ series and make a good start on the Jupiter Aiken books. He spent most of his time lost in fiction, learning little facts about the Wizarding World as he read. Beasts and creatures and the public fear of Dark Wizards. But, sometimes he found himself lost in the old potions and meditation texts that SS had left him.

After Lunch, Harry usually spent some time at his desk, practicing using a quill and learning cursive style. He'd read in the Muggle-born guide book that some pure-bloods judged people based on handwriting style, because so many Muggle-borns never mastered using the quill. Whereas pure-bloods were given handwriting lessons basically in the crib. So Harry utilized the parchment Jiffy set out for him and practiced using a beaten up old style guide that SS had left for him.

It was painstaking and grueling, especially when learning how to using a dipped ink and a quill. The quill was always dripping and the pot so easy to knock over. But a week after his first attempts he received a small postscript from SS, in his reply to Harry's question about why the Society pages had lambasted someone for not wearing a pointed hat to a funeral ( _'pointed hats are obligatory attire at certain formal events; naming ceremonies, seminars, weddings and funerals'_ ).

At the bottom of the note, SS had written: _'Your penmanship is much improved. Continue your practice, it will serve you well.'_

It was small, barely anything at all, but it made Harry's mouth tug into a proud grin.

He barely ever received praise. Even from his teachers. Harry had to keep his grades lower than Dudley's for the Dursleys to stay off his back, and when he did do well the teacher's accused him of cheating (prompted by the bile spouted by his Aunt and Uncle about his deviant ways).

This was _real_ praise. A real compliment. And Harry couldn't help but be satisfied by the prospect.

So he kept practicing. He found an empty notebook in the drawer and turned it into a journal, tracking what he was learning about the Wizarding World and his parents.

He was so caught up in his new discoveries and his new routine, he didn't notice the changes until the Friday before school started again.

It was about seventeen days after he'd come back from the Hospital. He walked to the bathroom to brush his teeth, happened to glance at himself in the mirror and something just felt... off.

He couldn't quite put his finger on it at first. Just a feeling. As if he were looking at a stranger, not his own reflection. But that seemed absurd. He could still see his button nose. His cupids bow lips. His emerald green eyes. But, his hair was... flatter. Neater.

There were no tufts of gravity-defying locks. No unruly mess that scattered about in every direction. He could actually see a parting, instead of a just a disorderly wad of wild tresses. He'd brushed it that morning and it had stayed, relatively, neat. Neat-ish, at least. Black, as always, but deeper black somehow and shinier.

It was bizarre.

Then, when he stared more closely at his face, he saw that his cheeks were different. Not so round and pudgy. There was less baby fat and his jaw wasn't so rounded. More pointed.

Harry touched his face, poked and prodded at it.

It was slight, but he could see a difference.

Little, almost undetectable differences. The more he looked, the more he saw. Paler skin. More soft and porcelain than his usual reddish hue. His eyebrows were thicker, fuller, more defined.

Was it just puberty, maybe? A growth spurt?

He'd been taking lots of potions. Maybe it was helping him somehow. Reinvigorating his dry hair and skin. That sort of thing.

Harry stared in the mirror, noting the differences until he started to feel oddly vain and slightly unsettled, then promptly decided not to think about it and went back to his handwriting practice.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello readers!
> 
> Fear not, more is on the way. I've written a lot of the book already, but I wanted to check it over and release a bit at a time. Subscribe or check back in a few days and I'll have the next few chapters up.
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all!
> 
> I got my edits done quicker than I thought, so here is the next installment. Chapter 5 is on its way.
> 
> Enjoy! :)

Harry got one furious bang on his door on the following Monday. He crawled out of bed and unlocked the door with a dizzying wave of magic.

As he opened the door, the room was already back to normal and his Uncle was scowling at him from the other side.

"Still alive, huh?" The man growled, somewhere between angry and disappointed by that news. "Well, hurry up and get ready."

Harry did as he was told, eating the last of his breakfast and wandering to the bedroom, where he found that his old school uniform, the second hand set that Dudley had grown out of last year, had now been adjusted to fit him properly.

"Jiffy?" Harry called and she popped into the room beside him. "Did you alter these?"

Jiffy nodded with a bright, proud smile. "Jiffy saw they were too big for the Young Master and fixed them up. Does Master Potter like them?"

Harry smiled and nodded. "I love them. Thank you, Jiffy."

The House Elf squealed with delight and popped away in a flush of embarrassment.

When Harry descended the stairs in his fitted uniform, Aunt Petunia had scowled and sneered, but hadn't said a thing. Dudley ignore him the entire way to school, not uttering a word or looking Harry's way at all. He even seemed a little uncomfortable, sitting next to Harry.

SS must have put the fear of god in the Dursleys to have them acting like this. Harry wondered what kind of threats he'd given them to get them to behave.

Whatever they were, Harry was just glad they'd worked.

Harry's new year teacher was Mr Bagley, a balding man with a reverberating tone who hissed when he laughed. He hadn't spent much time with Harry, or Dudley for that matter, but he'd clearly heard about him.

That morning Mr Bagley set a 'catch-up' maths quiz. Harry answered as best he could with his neatest handwriting. His new school workbook was fresh and lovely and he inscribed his handwriting with flourishing capitals on the front.

Jiffy had packed him a gorgeous lunch in a metal box, wrapped in a handkerchief. Harry finished every last bite and neatly packed it away again when he was finished, reading for the rest of his lunch.

It was a pretty good day, until Mister Bagley handed back Harry's maths quiz sheet with a big, round zero and _'See me after school'_ written on the top.

Harry felt his cheeks heat and a panic rise in his belly. Had he really got them all wrong? Usually he was pretty okay at maths. But this was really embarrassing.

He could barely concentrate for the whole of the rest of lesson. His mind was thundering with humiliation and worry. Mr Bagley didn't look at Harry for the rest of the day, not even to hand out homework sheets.

When the day was over, Harry sat and waited for the class to leave and slumped over to the teacher's desk.

The balding man, frowned and folded his hands, blue eyes stern and unkind.

"Do you know why you're here, Harry?"

Harry shook his head. "Did I get all the answers wrong?"

This statement made the man's scowl deepen. "Well, that would be hard to tell, since this isn't your paper."

Harry paused, then blinked at the man. "Sorry?"

"You should be," Mr Bagley said, folding his arms. "Now, tell me which student you swapped with. If you do that now I won't have to tell your Aunt and Uncle and you can do the paper again now."

Harry felt a rising dread. Coupled with something else. Something bitter and furious. "I didn't cheat."

Mr Bagley scowled and snatched the paper from Harry's hand. "This is not your work, Harry. Your teachers warned me about you, so I checked your old work. This isn't your handwriting, and this grade is much higher than your last year's results. Honesty is a virtue, Harry. I'm giving you a chance to tell the truth."

"But I am--"

"None of that," Mr Bagley cut in. "Tell the truth or I'll be speaking to your Aunt."

Harry grit his teeth and closed his eyes. Trying to breathe the bitterness away. Then he opened his eyes. "It's my paper, sir."

Mr Bagley frowned and shook his head. "I'm very disappointed in you, young man."

 _Idiots_ , Harry fumed. _Why are they all such imbeciles. Why does nobody ever believe me?_

Harry grit his teeth as the teacher scrawled 'cheaters never prosper' on the paper and Harry walked away with it crumpled in his hand.

Harry knew the teacher would be phoning Aunt Petunia as soon as Harry got home. The woman would flutter with delight at the opportunity to gush more vile lies about him. How he was nothing but a cheat and a delinquent. How his parents were drunks and layabouts.

 _"We try our best,"_ his Aunt Petunia would say, _"but he's always fighting, looking for easy ways out. I fear he's beyond hope."_

One more teacher to make his life hell. To insult and ignore him. Snap at him whenever he breathed too loud or his chair creaked. Looking for the moment Harry would _'show his true colors'_.

Aunt Petunia drove him and Dudley home and Harry escaped upstairs as he heard the phone begin to ring. He locked his door and threw his bag on the floor, chuckled the crumpled test across the room at the unlit fireplace, rushed to the bedroom then dove on his bed and lay there. Trying desperately not to cry.

He didn't know how long he lay there, but it was some time later when he heard a soft pop. He turned to see a letter beside his pillow. He reached over and tore it open, reading the message inside.

#

_Mr Potter,_

_Would you mind illuminating me as to why your teacher believes you are a 'cheater'?_

_SS_

#

Harry groaned and hid his head in the pillow.

Jiffy.

SS must have asked for the House Elf to bring him Harry's school results.

Harry swallowed down his pride and rolled out of bed, toward his desk. Then pulled out a quill and wrote below SS's note.

_'I didn't cheat. My teacher's don't like me. They think I'm a delinquent.'_

As soon as Harry set down his quill, the paper was gone. Reappearing a moment later with another addition.

_'Are you?'_

_'No,'_ Harry wrote, _'but the Dursleys tell everyone I am.'_

The note popped away and it was a little longer before he received a reply.

_'And people believe them? Tell me, are your teacher's all imbeciles or just the majority of them?'_

Harry chuckled and grinned, dipping his quill in the ink and scratching a reply.

_'The majority. I had a nice teacher fourth year, Mrs Carter. She told on them to Social Services, but I don't think they ever got back to her. Then she got a job at a fancy school. The rest of the teacher's just think I'm an idiot and a criminal, like the Dursleys say.'_

There was a long silence after the note popped away. So long that Harry had got out his homework and started working on it before he got the note back.

When he heard another pop, he saw that SS had got out a fresh sheet of parchment and written at the top.

_'By my calculation, your paper should be marked at a grade B. I fail to understand why that would classify you as an idiot. Am I missing something here?'_

Harry winced and sighed. Then scrawled a reply.

_'My grades are usually lower than that. The Dursleys don't like it when I get grades higher than Dudley, so I tend to get a few of the questions deliberately wrong. That way they don't punish me all summer with a bunch of chores and lost meals.'_

The note popped away and it was several minutes before Harry got a reply. He finished up his homework and then spent time going back over it and checking for mistakes.

When the reply came, Harry was starting to feel less upset about the whole thing. Yes, Mr Bagley was an idiot, but one day Harry would be surrounded by people who didn't buy into the Dursleys's lies.

Harry unfolded the note and read.

_'You are undoubtedly not an idiot. While those of a certain mind would consider it a sacrilege to purposefully hinder your academics for any reason. I, myself, see the sly logic in resisting the urge for approval in order to ensure a less unpleasant existence. You did what you needed to, to survive._

_'You are now, however, no longer in a position to need pander to your imbecilic relatives and I refuse to allow you to do so any longer. Therefore, we will need to find a way to deal with this half-witted teacher of yours and his distorted perceptions._

_'Your mother was an intelligent woman and I believe you have inherited a gifted mind, too. I will not allow you to have Petunia linger under the fiction that her blood is superior to Lily's. So, tomorrow, you will begin our long, grueling campaign to upend the Dursley Deception.'_

Harry read studiously through the man's instructions, making notes and practicing lines in front of the bathroom mirror.

The next day he brushed his hair (which handily stayed in place), fixed his tie and ignored Aunt Petunia when she snickered and insulted him from the front seat, calling him a cheater and how she'd told Mr Bagley all about Harry's deviant ways.

Harry didn't pay attention. He didn't say a word. And when he walked into the class, he stepped right up the teacher's desk with his head held high.

Mr Bagley lifted a brow and turned to Harry, eyes challenging and arms folded. "Well, Harry. Have you come to tell the truth?"

Harry took and breath and said, without a pause or a quiver in his voice. "I'm not a cheater, Mr Bagley," he found a spot on the wall behind and stared at it, head high as the students filtered in and whispered. "I know you and the other teacher's say so, but I'm no cheater and I never have been. And I want to prove it to you."

Mr Bagley scowled at that. "You want to redo the paper?"

"Yes," Harry said. "And for every test, I want you to confiscate my bag and sit me beside your desk, where I can't see any other student's working and where you can see that I'm not carrying a cheat-sheet. If you want me to do my homework here at lunch or after school, I will do that too."

Mr Bagley blinked at that, frowning. "You will?"

Harry nodded. "Yes."

The teacher stared, brow furrowed and curious. His blue eyes softening a little from their hateful glower to something more intrigued. "Okay, Harry. Pull over your table and chair."

Harry dragged them both forward until his desk was on the other side of Mr Bagley's. Harry got out his pens and pencils, then the teacher passed him his test, confiscating Harry's bag and telling him to lift up his sleeves and show his arms.

When the teacher couldn't find any pen marks, he nodded. "You've got ten minutes. Begin."

Harry worked while Dudley and the other students padded in and the register was read aloud. The work was easier the second time around, especially after SS had marked his last paper and given him advice. Harry finished it quickly and Mr Bagley took it with a curious look.

"Keep your table there, where I can see you," Mr Bagley told him. "We'll discuss you moving back once you've shown you're earning your grades honestly."

Harry bit back the urge to argue with the man. Nobody else in class had to _prove_ they weren't cheating, but life hadn't been fair to Harry before. No point expecting it now.

Harry just nodded.

They did a Geography test later that day, after Mr Bagley taught them about reading maps. The teacher watched Harry through the whole test, as the boy scrawled in his cursive handwriting and pondered over the answers, checking his work over when he was done.

At the end of the day, the teacher waited for everyone to leave before handing Harry his papers.

"An A for maths and a B- for Geography," Mr Bagley said. "Honest results. Keep it up."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, then rushed to the car.

He hid his victorious smile while Dudley told Aunt Petunia how Harry had been relegated to the front of class, with the teacher. He talked like it was a position of humiliation that Harry would loathe and Aunt Petunia gleefully lapped it up. Neither of them seemed to even consider the possibility Harry had _asked_ to move there. Asked to _prove_ he wasn't cheating. Asked to _show_ he was smarter than they all said.

Asked, so that he could _out_ the Dursleys as the nasty, lying creeps they really were.

#

Mr Bagley loved tests. He did tests for everything. Tests after he'd shown them a new topic. Tests a week later to go back over what they'd learned. Tests to review topics they did last year.

The teacher began methodically checking Harry every lesson. Flicking through his bag and unpacking everything, even the lunch box (which he looked mildly envious of). He even got Harry to pull off his jumper and unbutton his cuffs, so that he could see Harry hadn't hidden a cheat sheet up his sleeves, pockets or in his belt.

The teacher seemed determined to prove Harry was a vile cheater like the Dursleys and the other teachers said, but when he couldn't find proof of it, he had no choice but to give Harry his well deserved A's and B's.

On the Wednesday, Dudley forgot his homework and instead of admitting he'd been too busy playing video games, he blamed it on Harry.

Dudley blinked with crocodile tears and spoke in his whiniest voice. "But sir, it's not my fault! Harry _stole_ my homework for himself, just before class."

Piers Polkiss and the rest of Dudley's goons snickered as Mr Bagley whirled on Harry.

"Show me your bag!"

Harry pulled it out and handed it over without argument. When he found Harry's homework sheet, he hesitated.

It was just a moment, but Harry could see the cogs whirring.

Harry's homework was written in _Harry's_ handwriting. The neat cursive he'd been practicing, not Dudley's horrible messy scrawl.

Mr Bagley turned to Dudley. "When did he take it?"

"Just before class, sir," Dudley said, hiding a grin.

A lie.

An obvious lie, to anyone with half a brain.

Mr Bagley glanced at Harry briefly, then gathered the paper in his pile and set them on his desk. "Harry, I want to talk to you at lunch."

"Yes, sir," Harry said.

"Dudley, I'll give you a second homework sheet to finish tonight."

That made the smirk fall off Dudley's face quick.

Harry resisted his own.

When everyone else filtered out for their lunch break, Harry stayed to talk to the teacher. Mr Bagley waited until everyone was gone before he spoke.

"You said you were willing to do your homework during your lunch break and after class?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, sir."

Mr Bagley sat back, tapping his arm with his stubby finger. "Get out your packed lunch, you can eat here. I'll give you the homework sheet now."

"Okay, sir."

Harry worked through the homework while Mr Bagley read his book. One of Harry's old teachers, Mrs Felps, stopped by for a cup of tea and a natter, then scowled at the sight of Harry.

"What did he do this time?" She asked with a frown.

Mr Bagley paused at that, glancing curiously at Harry. Then he pulled her outside for a quiet chat.

Harry could hear them whispering outside. Occasionally a word or two would filter from the closed door. _"Did you ever see him...?" "She told me that, too." "Awfully quiet in class." "... feels off."_

Mr Bagley never announced to the class, or to Aunt Petunia, that Harry was doing his homework in school. Harry would be vague with his explanations to his Aunt, making it sound as if he was staying late for a detention and she'd merrily tell him he'd need to walk himself home, then. As well as praise the wonderful Mr Bagley for being such a fine judge of character.

Weeks went by like that. Mr Bagley checking his rucksack before tests, asking him to stay to do his homework in school.

Eventually, the man started asking questions.

"Did you study this summer?" The teacher asked. "Your grades are much higher than last year."

Harry shrugged. "I was recovering from the hospital visit for the last part of summer, so I didn't have a lot else to do than read and practice my cursive."

It wasn't entirely untrue, he supposed. And it was easier than explaining that the Dursleys starved him for doing better than Dudley.

The teacher had flinched at that. "Hospital?" He said. "Why were you at hospital?"

"The doctors think it was a severe reaction to a virus. I couldn't eat or drink so they had me hooked up to that nose tube that puts food straight down your throat."

The teacher frowned at that. "And your medical records will confirm this?"

Harry nodded.

 _Funny,_ Harry thought, _he didn't ask if Aunt Petunia would confirm it. Obviously she didn't mention it before._

After that, the teacher seemed to warm to him. He'd help Harry with homework questions and write little notes on his tests. _'Good job', 'Excellent work', 'Keep it up'_.

He kept Harry's seat up at the front all through September and kept Harry doing his homework at school, where he could see.

Then, on Friday the 28th, Dudley finally screwed up.

"I don't have it, sir," Dudley sniveled dramatically, eyes tearful and pathetic, "Harry stole my homework before class."

Mr Bagley froze, eyes narrowing. "Did he?" The man glowered. "And why would he do that?"

"Well, he didn't do his," Dudley lied, sniffing, "Mum told him to do it but he yelled at her and watched TV. Then, this morning, he stole mine out my bag when we got to school."

Mr Bagley scowled and folded his arms. "Get up."

Dudley froze. "Sir?"

"I said, _get up_. Pack up your things," Mr Bagley walked to the front of class to Harry. "Harry, you too, you'll be switching desks with your cousin."

Harry hesitated, then stood up, grabbing his things and watching as Dudley confusedly packed away his stuff and walked to the front, where the teacher was pointing to the desk Harry had vacated.

"If there's one thing I can't stand, it's _liars_ , Mr Dursley. I believe I'll be having a talk with your mother after school. It's time we straightened things out."

Dudley blinked, indignant annoyance taking shape in his eyes. He directed a bewildered scowl at Harry, certain this was somehow the young Wizard's fault.

Harry supposed it was, in a way.

He walked to the back and took his seat where Dudley had been, not even bothered when Piers Polkiss began whispering 'freak' and 'loser' at him from the seat beside his.

After school, Mr Bagley sent Harry out to fetch his Aunt.

"What did you do now, freak?" Petunia snarled, following him to the classroom.

Harry just shrugged.

The meeting that followed was one of the most satisfying moments of Harry's life.

Mr Bagley tore into Aunt Petunia with a savagery and grace that Harry genuinely admired. He'd collected evidence to demonstrate Harry was a _"bright, talented child with a great deal of potential"_ and expressed his lingering worries about the _"unfounded allegations"_ she had made against Harry's _"character"_.

When Mr Bagley asked outright why she had failed to notify the school about Harry's hospital visit and the doctor's advice that he not be overly taxed during his return to class, she had bumbled and dithered, voice croaking as a furious blush crept across her whole face and neck.

"I took some time speaking to the other teachers at the school and though each had been told, time and time again, that the boy was, as you put it, _'rotten'_ , none of them had even a sliver of evidence that this held to be true. There have been bruises found on the boy, but nobody has seen him, as you said, _'bullying and fighting with other children'_. Not only that, but when I got in touch with a former teacher at the school, she had her own worries that Harry was being abused."

"Th-that's absurd!" Aunt Petunia squawked, voice shrill and stiff. "We would never--"

"When I spoke to Harry, he assured me that this was not the case. Since I have no evidence of neglect or abuse at the moment, I will hold off speaking to the authorities. But I will be keeping a close eye on the situation and this _will_ be going in his file. I will make sure that future teacher's, in his secondary school, are made aware of your... tendency toward _misinformation_. And if there is any evidence that you are mistreating Harry, it _will_ go to the authorities."

Aunt Petunia opened and closed her mouth, face so red it was now turning purple. Her humiliation was so thick in the air Harry could practically smell it. "Well, I... I would never--I don't--"

"I _severely_ hope not, Mrs Dursley," Mr Bagley said, scowling at her. Then he turned to Harry. "Is there anything you'd like to add, Harry?"

Everyone turned to look at him. Dudley blinking away furious tears. Aunt Petunia with wide-eyed terror and Mr Bagley with a solid and friendly air.

"Um," Harry cleared his throat, "is it alright if I move away from Piers and the rest of Dudley's friends? They keep throwing paper at me in class and calling me a freak."

Mr Bagley frowned at that, directing a scowl at Dudley. "That will be arranged, Harry. And I would be grateful if you would write a list of students so I can speak to their parents, too."

Harry smiled gratefully. "Thank you, Mr Bagley."

The teacher nodded. "No problem, Harry. Let me know if you need anything. Anything at all."

Harry resisted a smug smirk at his Aunt Petunia. "Yes, sir."

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments always appreciated.
> 
> More coming soon.


	5. Chapter 5

Brewing the Menscari Tincture was the easier part of administering it. It was a diabolically complicated Healer-Grade potion with more steps than the Wolfsbane brew. But, Severus was growing increasingly accustomed to such things in the last few weeks.

What was difficult was getting the dosage right.

Poppy had briefly mentioned the necessity of Menscari in her notes. Using Healer terms such _'impeded formation of neurological pathways'_ and _'frontal cortex growth hindered'_. Hinting at how neglect could _'disrupt brain development'_.

It had taken Severus a great deal of time to wade through the literature on the subject of the Menscari potion. A tincture that had been invented in the last ten years by a Muggle-born Healer and Master potioneer, who held a particular interest in the field of Muggle psychobiology.

Severus read that patients that spent too much time on the potions course could develop heightened anxiety and migraines. And too little time on the course would mean that the neurological effects of Harry's neglect would not be fully reversed.

Healers, for this reason, usually had regular visits from patients on this course, to perform a spell which monitored their progress and halt the potions when the growth stagnated. Severus, of course, did not have that luxury of an in-person health check. And so he was forced to invent an alternative means of monitoring the boy.

More accurately, a test.

Once a week, through the months of October to January, Severus sent Harry a specially designed test to monitor changes in the boy's memory, decision making and intelligence. Scoring them appropriately and watching as the figures slowly rose.

It took months before the boy's scores were finally leveling out and, in that time, Severus observed with astonishment as the boy began to excel in any area he set his mind to. Much as Lily had.

Severus continued to comment on the Daily Prophet newspaper and send the boy explanations on various subjects relating to the Wizarding World. But it wasn't long before the boy's questions became more pointed and increasingly complex.

 _'Did you see the article on the Minister's call for Beast Culling in Cysegredig Dark Forest?'_ The boy asked wrote to him one day. _'I thought that was Centaur territory. Didn't the Ministry sign a treaty to keep off Centaur land?'_

The boy had been absolutely correct. Frighteningly so. He'd read about a treaty in the back of one of Severus's ancient, hideously dull history books during his personal studies and made the connection.

When Severus looked further into it, he realized the Minister, along with a select number of Wizengamot members, had concocted the scheme to take control of Centaur territory.

Severus had wound up revising Harry's anonymous letter to the editor explaining as much. The boy had been delighted to see his letter sitting in the paper a day later, along with a page three article written by Rita Skeeter _'uncovering'_ the scandal.

The boy's grades rapidly rose until he was settled firmly at the top of his class and memorizing the books left behind by Severus, until the Professor was forced to procure more for the boy to keep himself occupied.

Jiffy kept Severus informed on the progress of the growth stimulator potions, tracking the boy's height and weight once a week until he was rapidly reaching and exceeding the average for his age. She'd waxed lyrical about how _'the Young Master is so handsome'_ and how he _'barely needs his glasses now'_.

The comment was a curious one, but Severus supposed that the boy's vision issues could have been linked to a form of impeded neurological function of some variety. He wasn't exactly an expert in the subject. There was a reason it took years to train as a Healer.

Poppy had been delighted by the new system at Hogwarts and the resulting discoveries of numerous mistreated children had cemented the decision by the Heads of Houses to make it mandatory. Nobody commented on the remarkable lack of interest that Albus displayed in the subject, but Severus could tell that the Medi-Witch was growing suspicious.

"Poor dear," Poppy whispered to Severus one day, when one of his first year Slytherin's had shuffled back off to class. "Classic signs of neglect. It's harder to prove, of course, but just as damaging. Poor thing will need months of treatment. I'll have to get in touch with a Healer Clinic."

The news did not surprise Severus, as much as it should. The first year had a certain secretive disposition that reminded Severus much of himself. Hair long to cover his face and a pair of thick glasses that reminded him a little of Harry.

Severus bit his lip. "Neglect," he murmured, "is it true that neglect causes damage to the brain?"

"Oh, yes," Poppy nodded fervently. "It causes damage to neurological development. But the Healer will be able to give him a potions course that will reverse the damage. Truly astounding stuff."

Severus hummed. "Fascinating," he said. "You wonder what else a potion like that would do. Do you think his eyesight could be effected by the neurological damage?"

"Well, its hard to say, but it's possible," she seemed curious at the thought. "Good thinking, Severus, I will have to make sure his glasses are adjustable to his vision. It's possible to argue vision was damaged by his circumstances so I might be able to use that to get the school to pay out for an Visus repair treatment."

Severus smirked at that. "An admirably guileful plan, Poppy. I am certain young Mr Brunner will be thrilled to see you playing at Slytherin on his behalf."

Poppy slapped him playfully on the shoulder with a smile. "Let me know how the child services report goes."

Severus nodded. "I will, my dear. Thank you for your fine and dedicated work."

She smiled at him. "And you, Severus. The other teacher's might not see it, but I don't think any other takes better care of their House than you. Your snakes are lucky to have you looking out for them."

Severus couldn't help but smile at that and gratefully bow his head.

#

For Christmas, SS got Harry a whole bunch of books. Not just any books, either. They were a load of complex theory texts and practical exercise manuals on something called _Occlumency_.

 _'As you have proven yourself to be adept at any subject you set yourself to, I thought it advantageous to set your mind to this one.'_ SS had written in the attached letter. _'While Legimens (that is to say those with the skill of so-called "mind reading"), are rare, you will come into contact with at least two in your time at Hogwarts. I would recommend you begin your training by learning Meditation. Happy Christmas, SS.'_

Harry had been delighted by the compliment, buzzing with eager energy. And the more he read through the book, the more amazed he became.

The author of the theory book described Occlumency as being _'one of the most complex and labyrinthine magical studies ever created'_ and implied that even a basic level of expertise required sometimes years of dedicated study and skill. The fact that SS had faith in Harry's ability to learn it was the highest compliment he could think of.

 _'The Master Occlumens will never be heard boasting about their skill.'_ The author wrote. _'It is a practice designed to be conquered in private, so that Legimens who attempt to uncover their secrets take for granted that what they see is correct. The Master Occlumens can fool any Legimens as to their true nature, thoughts or memories, and leave them with no suggestion that what they see is anything but the complete truth.'_

Harry was hooked. Occlumency was a multi-headed hydra with so many applications it seemed almost insane that more people didn't utilize it. The application of magic in _'clearing the mind'_ could make it easier for Occlumens to plan and plot in stressful situations and overcome anxiety, even during battle.

The utilization of the _'Memory Palace Technique'_ gave each memory and area of the Occlumens's life a safe place in an imaginary location, some hidden and some in plain sight, and in doing so aided memory and recall ability.

And, lastly, the technique of creating a mental wall or barrier could be used to keep out Legimens, but also to keep away unwanted thoughts, memories and worries for a period of time when necessary.

Harry started his practice every evening before bed. He began with meditation. The beginner's book walked him through a visualization technique that taught him how to clear his mind using magic, instead of just the Muggle method.

It took weeks to get right. Manipulating his magic like that was hard, especially as he was still young and his magical core still forming. After a week he was able to magically clear his mind for about a minute before it slipped again. It took another few weeks for the practice to keep his mind clear for ten minutes. But, by the end of February, he could clear his mind for a whole hour, at least.

After that, Harry started building his 'Memory Palace'. Mr Bagley turned out to be quite helpful for that. He'd been very impressed with Harry's progress in class and would occasionally call him aside for small chats and catch ups. When Harry mentioned he was learning about Memory Palaces, the teacher had hummed with intrigue.

"Ah, the method of loci. Useful technique," Mr Bagley said, "it's a form of _spacial_ mnemonics. A very old memorization tool, but still very useful. Our primitive ancestors needed advanced spacial recognition skills, after all, for the hunting and gathering of food. The best way to do it, I've heard, is to take a familiar setting, somewhere in which you can remember where everything is located. Then 'code' the new information you place there in memorable and sometimes outlandish ways."

So Harry decided on Number Four Privet Drive as his Memory Palace. He used the guidance in his Occlumency book to arrange and assemble spots for different memories in the imagined version of Privet Drive.

His few old memories of his parents he hid under a pot by the flowerbed. His memories of the neglect and abuse he'd suffered at the hands of the Dursleys he put in the cupboard under the stairs, hidden in old figurines and under the cot. All his times starving and hungry he hid in the Dursley's kitchen. In the ice tray in the freezer, a milk bottle in the fridge. A jar in the cupboard. Bit by bit.

And as for his memories of SS and the magical world, he hid those best of all. He hid the memory of his real room under the floorboard in the old Smallest Bedroom, in the form of his secret key. Then, only when he'd locked the room could he find his memories of the Wizarding World in the imaginary replica of the secret apartment SS had built for him.

Under ornaments by the fireplace. Inside the kettle on the stove. In jars laying in the pantry and books on his shelf. Harry hid all his memories well. As if he were stowing away secrets.

By the time he got around to building a protective mental barrier, it was Spring. Which was when Mr Bagley started meaningfully asking Harry which schools he was looking at and whether he'd considered applying for a scholarship to a boarding school.

"I know a few good places where I could write you a recommendation letter," Mr Bagley told him one day after class. "It could give you a chance to get some distance from... your Aunt and Uncle. They will be doing entrance exams soon. Think about it."

Harry had only just barely resisted explaining he already had a boarding school ready and paid for. SS had told him that when he didn't need it getting around to _'certain persons'_ that Harry was aware of his Hogwarts placement.

When he'd wrote to SS about what to say, the man had just told him, _'Go ahead and apply,'_ as if it was the most logical thing in the world. _'Ask the teacher for a couple of recommendations and apply to the schools. Then, when you get your Hogwarts letter, sent the teacher a message explaining that you got into a third school you found in Scotland and thank him for all his valuable assistance.'_

It seemed absurd, but it did make for a more convincing cover story and it oddly got his Aunt and Uncle off his back for a bit when he told them he was applying for 'normal' schools.

Mr Bagley wrote him a glowing letter to send to two schools with Scholarship programs, just as the Spring entrance exam period began. Even knowing that he wasn't going to the them, turning up at the schools those days for the entrance exams was nerve wracking.

He applied to one near Cambridge and another in Devon. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon begrudgingly drove him there with the argument that they were an opportunity for day trips for _"the family"_ (excluding Harry, of course).

Funnily enough, the tests were great practice for his end of year school exams. By the time the school finally hosted the Key Stage 2 tests, in May, he was already well studied.

They had two papers in English and two in maths and they were some of the easiest exams Harry had ever sat. Compared to decoding the Daily Prophet and learning Gobbledegook so he could comprehend the Financial Report section, it was a breeze.

Dudley spent the whole week prior stressing and being bribed into revising by the Dursleys. Meanwhile, Harry Occluded and did the odd bit of catch-up revision, happy in the knowledge that he wasn't going to need the results anyway.

A month later, when the results finally came out, Harry was bowled over to realize he'd gotten almost a perfect score for all four exams.

Mr Bagley was ecstatic when he heard, happily telling him how _"proud"_ he was of Harry and how wonderful it was to see him _"coming out of your shell"_.

But, by far the best praise was from SS.

Harry woke up the next day to see a gift wrapped in brown paper and string on his bed. On top of it was an envelope with his name and the familiar SS sealed in green wax. Harry grinned and ripped open the envelope first, reading the letter within.

#

_Mr Potter,_

_Though I am immensely proud of the astonishing results of your hard work and remarkable mind, I imagine it pales in comparison to the pride and delight your parents feel right now._

_You have done a fine job and you should be exceedingly pleased with yourself. With results such as this, I imagine you will be as beloved by your teachers at Hogwarts as Lily was._

_Congratulations. I hope this gift will assist your future studies, though I imagine a mind such as yours does not need much help._

_Yours faithfully,_

_SS_

#

Harry untied the string and tore open the paper to reveal a perfectly sized brown leather satchel. Artfully faded with brass buckles and buttons. When Harry finally peeked inside, he realized it had an expansion charm on it so he could fit all his books.

"Cool!" He grinned, then promptly began testing it out until Jiffy arrived with his breakfast and the Saturday paper.

#

Severus loved this time of year. The summer break. The one time when he could be rid of those infuriating dunderheads he taught. Even looking after his snakes, no matter how much he cared for them, would grate on him the longer the academic year dragged on.

But this year the months of June and July crawled like slugs. Slow and laborious.

Harry had finished his potions courses by May. He'd grown quite considerably in the last few months. Jiffy reported that he was taller than most of his classmates and then confided in Severus that a number of Harry's female classmates scrawled his name in love hearts in their notebooks.

Severus supposed that James Potter had a similar effect on his female schoolmates. Lily had, oddly, been one of the few who'd been immune.

The boy was growing his confidence back nicely.

One day in June he'd been sitting at lunch and received an astonished note from Harry.

_'They actually gave me the scholarships! What do I do?!'_

Severus had smirked and replied, _'Congratulations, Harry. I am delighted to hear it, but not at all surprised. Might I suggest you "accidentally" leave copies of the acceptance letters lying around for Petunia to happen upon. I could get Jiffy to bottle the memory of that vile woman's seething jealousy.'_

Harry had seriously considered it, then decided that his school results, compared to Dudley's, were humiliation enough.

Severus could see so much of Lily in the boy, in the way he thought, the questions he asked in his letters, as well as the subjects that took his interest. The more complex the better.

Harry perceived the world differently than most, the way Lily had. With a kindness and determination that, when partnered with that sharp mind of his, forged into a truly lethal weapon.

He'd already asked Severus numerous questions on the laws on House Elf welfare and whether the claim that ownership of a House Elf was mandatory for them to survive was actually true.

 _'Maybe the Wizengamot made it up. Maybe it's just Ministry propaganda,'_ the boy suggested one day when they'd been writing back and forth. Severus found himself doing it more and more often over the past year. _'House Elves might need to survive near a locus of magical power, but wound up getting roped into servitude as part of the deal. The Wizengamot aren't exactly generous at handing out rights to non-human beings, after all.'_

They'd wound up having long, detailed conversations about non-human rights, even those laws which Severus had thought were perfectly fine. Harry had slowly managed to convince him otherwise.

 _'If werewolves truly wanted to push for greater rights for their own, they'd sign the registry.'_ Severus had insisted one day. _'These laws are only in place to keep the Wizarding public safe.'_

The boy had taken no prisoners in his reply. _'If the Wizarding World really wanted to make the world safer from werewolves, they'd be freely giving out Wolfsbane potion without any hesitation. Instead, they make it so hard that only the wealthiest can afford it. They're not making these laws to keep people safe, they're making them so they never have to worry about their children ever marrying "half-breeds" and having werewolf babies. It's not safety, it's blind prejudice, no better than than the prejudice people feel toward muggle-borns. Anything to keep from sullying "The Sacred Pure-Blood Houses".'_

Severus had, after a week long back-and-forth on the subject, admitted defeat and acknowledged that the laws and regulations currently in place were pure prejudice without a single genuine intention toward the protection of the Wizarding public.

Even though Severus's pride had taken a blow at the thought of losing a debate on Wizarding Politics to a ten year old, their letters were the only thing keeping Severus sane over the long summer holiday.

With no complex Healer-Grade potions regimens to keep up with or plan, Severus attempted to immerse himself in his work, plotting to invent a less addictive variant of Dreamless Sleep, with some varying degree of success.

Usually his holiday's alone were a dream. A rare spot of peace and quiet in an otherwise tumultuous year. But, no matter how much he wished to lose himself in his work, he couldn't help but worry about Harry.

The Hogwarts acceptance was due to arrive that day. Severus had told Jiffy to keep an eye out for Minerva when she arrived to talk to the boy, and warned Harry that he'd receive a visitor and to act as if he had no knowledge of the Wizarding World. But it was long past three when the House Elf finally popped into Severus's study.

"Well?" Severus asked, glancing up from his notes.

The House Elf shook her head, eyes wide and worried. "The Young Master had no visitors sir, but Jiffy thinks the letter arrived in the Muggle post."

"The _Muggle post_?" Severus spat the words like they personally offended him. "You _think_ it arrived?"

The House Elf's lip trembled with panic. "Jiffy be so sorry, sir! Jiffy be watching the street for visitors and didn't think to check the post. The nasty Muggles took the letter and then be _burning_ it, sir."

Severus froze.

It didn't surprise him that the Dursley's would react so abysmally to the boy's acceptance letter.

But what did surprise him was the way the letter arrived.

As far as Albus knew, Harry was left unaware of the Wizarding World. He was meant to have no understanding that magic was real, how to mail his acceptance by Owl, or where to get his school supplies.

And yet, believing this to be the case, the old man had sent a letter by _post._ Not in the hands of a Head of House, as would be the standard protocol for Muggle-born or Muggle-raised students.

What was the Headmaster playing at?

Albus wanted the boy at Hogwarts, surely. But, for some reason, he wanted to leave the boy in ignorance.

The old fool had always loved playing games with people. Moving them like chess pieces into place.

What game was the old man playing now, Severus wondered.

He picked up a fresh sheet of paper and began writing a letter to Harry.

#

The next day, as instructed, Harry made a trip downstairs when the post came. Just as SS had told him, his Uncle Vernon came banging into the hallway ready to collect, then scowled at Harry like he was on to him and said. "Nothing for you, go back to your room."

Harry didn't make a fuss. The next day, he did the same. This time, when he saw the post shoved through the mail slot, there had to be around five or six yellow-parchment letters crammed in with the Dursleys's bills and junkmail.

"Go back to your room!" Uncle Vernon shrieked, gathering everything together and storming from the hall, pale with panicked squeaking about 'dangerous nonsense'. Harry heard a banging outside the house later that day, nailing the mail-slot shut.

The next day, there was a dozen of them. They were stuffed with no ceremony under the door and through the window of the downstairs toilet.

That was when Uncle Vernon started to lose it.

Later that day Harry heard a banging outside his bedroom window, and looked to find his Uncle Vernon boarding up the windows.

Harry was half worried about how far his Uncle was taking this, and half impressed at the work that the Magical Spacial Designers had put in, because his Uncle didn't seem to notice the fact it had been magically turned into an apartment at all.

Harry wrote SS a note that day updating the man on his Uncle's ongoing nervous breakdown. The mysterious SS simply replied with a sardonic: _'Couldn't have happened to a better man.'_

Harry wasn't entirely sure how the letters arrived the next day, but he walked down the stairs to find Aunt Petunia furiously blitzing them with what looked like a dozen eggs in the blender, while Uncle Vernon argued with someone from the company who supplied their milk.

Then, on Sunday, there came a great thunderous banging on Harry's door. When he went to answer, his Uncle was standing there breathing heavily with bulging eyes, a red face and half his mustache missing. "Pack some clothes and be _downstairs_ in _five minutes_! No arguments!"

"Um, alright Uncle Vernon," Harry agreed, then closed and locked the door and found a turned to see that Jiffy had packed his expandable satchel for him.

"Good luck, Young Master Harry!" She squeaked, holding it up for him. "Jiffy be keeping an eye on you. Call if you needs her."

Harry smiled and nodded. "Thanks, Jiffy. Don't supposed you packed a lunch?"

She nodded furiously, barely squealing at his expression of gratitude. "Six!"

Harry grinned. "You're the best, Jiffy."

At that she finally shrieked with glee and popped away. Harry picked up his bag, unlocked the door and hid his key around his neck on it's extendable chain, tucking it under his shirt.

Uncle Vernon packed them in the car and drove until nightfall. They didn't want to stop for food, which wasn't a problem for Harry, but did cause arguments when Dudley spotted one of Harry's delicious lunch boxes and howled about how he was starving to death.

After about an hour of moaning his parents finally relented and pulled over to a drive-through for 'normal' food, when Dudley threatened to eat some of Harry's 'freak stuff'.

They stopped at a dingy hotel and Harry shared a twin room with Dudley, suffering through his cousin's snoring until Jiffy took pity on him and put up some kind of silencing spell.

"Thanks, Jiffy," Harry whispered before he slipped off to sleep.

It didn't surprise Harry in the least when the proprietor of the hotel came over the next day at breakfast with a letter, claiming that he had nearly a hundred of them waiting at the front desk.

Uncle Vernon snatched it away and promptly fled the hotel with the rest of them kidnapped. He drove them through forests and fields until they reached the coast. Then he dragged them all out to a shack hidden on a large rock, some way off shore.

Uncle Vernon seemed mightily pleased with himself when he sat down that night for dinner with the rest of the Dursleys (four packets of crisps and four bananas). Harry sat down in the living room floor with another of Jiffy's lunchboxes and enjoyed a fresh chicken salad.

Later that evening, when his Aunt and Uncle went to bed and Dudley slumped miserably on the sofa bed, Harry took pity on him and handed him a lunchbox.

Harry had never seen Dudley more eager to eat salad in his life. "This freak food's delicious," the boy said with a mouthful of chicken.

"So glad you approve," Harry said, rolling his eyes.

Dudley stared at him. "You look different, now. Anyone ever told you that? You got... pointier."

Harry reddened and swallowed.

He'd noticed. Ever since his birthday last year Harry had been changing. Not just in his schoolwork or height either.

His _face_ was different. Longer. V shaped. His cheekbones were sharper, too. He didn't have as much baby fat as before. He'd grown his hair out a little, too. Just an inch or so. It wisped around his face in soft black tresses that he swept to one side, covering his scar.

He didn't even need his glasses anymore. He was pretty sure they were just decorative at this point, since they adjusted to his needs. He just kept them on for show so people didn't ask too many questions.

Harry compared himself to his picture of his father, recently. The one in the article that praised him as a James Potter lookalike.

Nobody would be telling him that again any time soon.

Harry shrugged and coiled on the floor, feeling the air around them warm slightly in a way that Harry was sure was thanks to Jiffy.

Around midnight, the house began to creak and moan in the storm. Harry lay awake, counting down the minutes to midnight, wondering whether he'd ever get to read his Hogwarts letter at all.

Then he heard a pounding bang at the door.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the lovely messages and kudos!
> 
> More chapters are on the way :)


	6. Chapter 6

Rubeus Hagrid wasn't exactly what Harry had expected when he dreamt of the day he'd meet his first wizard.

The man was nice enough. Friendly (to Harry, at least) but definitely not the graceful, eloquent mage with long robes and a mystical air that Harry had dreamed of meeting one day.

In Harry's head, for reasons he couldn't quite fathom, he imagined the first Wizard he met to wear predominantly black, have long, ebony hair and a voice that was commanding and elegant in one easy breath.

Hagrid didn't exactly meet that criteria. He was fairly sure that he didn't even have a proper wand, given the way he wielded his pink umbrella. And he wasn't even a Professor, as SS had implied the person who'd meet him would be.

Harry felt a little cheated, somehow. But he tried not to hold it against the giant man. He'd brought Harry a birthday cake, after all.

When Hagrid mentioned that he was the Keeper of the Keys at Hogwarts, Harry, as instructed by SS, acted like he'd never heard of the place before in his life.

Hagrid wasn't pleased.

"I knew yeh weren't gettin' yer letters but I never thought yeh wouldn't even know abou' Hogwarts, for cryin' out loud! Did yeh never wonder where yeh parents learnt it all?"

"All what?"

"ALL WHAT?" Hagrid cried. "Now wait jus' one second!"

Then the giant man leapt to his feet and turned on the Dursleys, his thundering admonishment loud enough to pierce the thunderclaps outside. He went on for a few minutes and Harry, for the most part, just sat back and enjoyed the show.

Eventually Hagrid calmed down enough to sit and 'explain' everything to Harry, despite Uncle Vernon's attempts to stop him.

"Harry, yer a wizard," he said, as if that explained everything.

While Harry listened to the man go through an explanation about a magical school called Hogwarts, he couldn't figure out why nobody had told Hagrid this in the first place that this might be an issue. Surely one meeting with the Dursleys would be enough to know that they weren't going to be sitting him down and explaining Witchcraft and Wizardry to Harry any time soon.

You'd think that after apparently saving the Wizarding World from a tyrannical psychopath and being dumped on the doorstep of the most awful people they could find, someone would at least take the time to send a proper Professor or Auror to come explain this to him.

Not a Grounds Keeper.

Then Hagrid finally handed Harry the letter. And he saw the splendid green letters written on the front. _Mr H. Potter, The Floor, Hut-on-the-Rock, The Sea._

 _Wow,_ Harry thought to himself, wondering whether they'd have addressed it to ' _The Cupboard Under the Stairs'_ if SS hadn't made the Dursley's move him.

#

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL_

_OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY_

_Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore_

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwhump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

_Dear Mr Potter,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress_

#

Harry stared at it in shock. Reading it again and again.

 _Seriously?_ He fumed. _That's it? They didn't even explain how to find an owl, or how to even get there. How was I possibly going to figure all this out?_

SS had told him that Muggle-raised students received visits from one of the Heads of Houses. He'd written to to Harry when the boy didn't get a visit. _'It would appear someone would prefer you weren't given as much information as others in your position would be owed. Play along with their scheme. You will learn more that way and will keep them ignorant.'_

Harry's eye fell upon the name at the top of the letter.

Albus Dumbledore.

Harry had read about him before. In the _Daily Prophet_ , _Hogwarts: A History_ and a history book SS had sent to him on modern Wizarding politics, following the rise of Grindelwald.

Harry had read not just of Dumbledore's role as Headmaster of Hogwarts, but of his role as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot.

Dumbledore was the primary opponent to the Dark Lord when he'd bid for power. Which meant he'd fought alongside Harry's parents. And he'd sent Harry a form letter and a _Grounds Keeper_ to explain all this.

 _'Keep them ignorant.'_ The words rumbled around Harry's head.

Was that what Dumbledore was doing, he wondered. Trying to keep Harry ignorant.

_Ignorant of what?_

"Gallopin' Gorgons, that reminds me," Hagrid said then pulled a genuine live owl from his pocket (Harry was a little worried about the poor creature), a quill and a roll of parchment. Then he started to write out a note to the Headmaster.

Once the ruffled-looking owl had fled the hut, his Uncle and Aunt finally recovered from shock long enough to scream and yell about how he definitely _wasn't_ going to that _"freak school"_ and learning _"freak stuff"_.

Then Aunt Petunia went on a rambling tangent about how awful it had been for her, growing up with _"Lily this"_ and _"Lily that"_ and how _she'd_ never got to go to a _fancy_ school because her parents had blown all their savings on their perfect, lovely _"freak"_ of a daughter. And suddenly, everything started to make sense.

No wonder Aunt Petunia hated him. She was _jealous_. Jealous of her sister and jealous of him. Lily was special and Petunia... Petunia was _normal_. Ordinary. And so she made herself feel better about it by proudly proclaiming that she was the most normal person of all the normal people in the world, and that anyone who _wasn't_ normal was, well, _abnormal_.

When Aunt Petunia finally let slip about the awful lie they'd told about Lily and James Potter's being drunks who died in a car accident, Hagrid roared with fury and set things straight.

Listening to Hagrid try and explain his parents's murder, and the rise and fall of the Dark Lord, was nothing short of painful. Especially when the man refused to say the murderer's name aloud until Harry had basically dragged it out of him.

"Voldemort?" Harry repeated.

The large man shuddered, like the very name was a bad omen. It made Harry wonder if that was why SS always referred to him as _'The Dark Lord'_. To avoid writing or saying the name.

"Yeh. Anyway, this--this Wizard, about twenty years ago now, started lookin' fer followers. Got 'em, too--some were afraid, some just wanted a bit o' power, 'cause he was gettin' himself power, all right. Dark days, Harry..."

Hagrid explained it like you'd expect a child to explain it. Vague and simplistic. No mentions of Ministry corruption or prejudice over blood status. No mention of the effect Grindelwald had on the rise of the Dark Arts.

It sounded like something out of a Star Wars movie when Hagrid explained it. _"The Dark Side"_ and _"the Light"_. Dumbledore held up as some grand Obi Wan Kenobi. Wise, all knowing and powerful.

A simple, sad, but uncomplicated story.

A story. Not the truth. Not the full account. Not the whole thing.

 _'Keep them ignorant.'_ The words rumbled around his Harry's head. Over and over again.

#

When Harry arrived at the Leaky Cauldron, just moments from his very first visit to the _actual_ Diagon Alley, he was practically vibrating with glee.

He'd been dreaming of this all year. Walking through an actual Wizarding street, surrounded by people like him.

He couldn't wait to get to the legendary entrance he'd read about in his _Muggle-born Guide_ book.

Which made it all the more irritating when Hagrid delayed his adventure by outing him to the whole pub.

When the giant's comment about being here on _"Hogwarts business"_ didn't seem effective enough a hint to the barman, he just reached over and swept Harry's hair away from his forehead.

If Harry been carrying a wand he would have hexed the idiot.

"Good Lord," the barman said, peering at Harry, "is this--can this be--?" The whole of the Cauldron fell silent as the man gazed at Harry in shock. "Bless my soul. Harry Potter, what an honor!" The man hurried away from the bar and shook Harry's hand. "Is it really you? You don't look how I'd expected. But you've got your mother's eyes, of course. Can I take another look at that scar, just to be sure?"

Harry pulled away just in time to avoid the man's reaching hand and was promptly mobbed by patrons. "Dorris Crockford, Mr Potter. Is it really you? You don't look like I'd--"

"Mr Potter, Mr Potter, mind if I take a picture?"

"So proud to meet you, Mr Potter. Could I just check your--"

"Er, Hagrid," Harry winced and politely backed away. "Can we leave?"

But Hagrid was occupied. "Professor Quirrell!" He called to a pale man, no older than thirty. "Harry, Professor Quirrell will be one of your teachers at Hogwarts."

"P-P-Potter," the Professor stammered, shaking Harry's hand. "C-can't t-tell you how p-pleased I am to meet you."

Harry smiled nervously, feeling claustrophobic as people kept leaning forward to stare at him, whispering about whether they were sure it was _really_ Harry Potter and asking, once more to _"see the scar."_

"Nice to meet you, Professor," Harry said, grabbing Hagrid's hand and trying to tug him away from the crowd. "Well, we're in a rush, better be--"

"Nonsense," Hagrid beamed, pushing Harry back into the fray. "We got plenty'a time!"

Harry winced through the awkward handshakes and irritating questions. Strangers telling him he was much more handsome than his last photo and asking, over and over again to see his scar.

Ten minutes later, Hagrid finally decided to put Harry out of his misery.

"Must get on. Lots ter buy. Come on, Harry."

Harry was not best pleased with Hagrid when they finally got to the walled courtyard where he'd read the entrance would be.

"Told yeh, didn't I? Told yeh you was famous. Even Professor Quirrell was tremblin' to meet yeh--mind you, he's usually tremblin'."

Harry decided not to dignify Hagrid with a response. He was too busy trying to recover from being attacked by crazed disciples.

How had none of these people sent him fan mail before, he thought to himself, before he realized that they must have.

 _Mail wards, maybe?_ Harry thought. _Are those a thing?_

Somebody must be redirecting his mail. Otherwise he would have been deluged with stuff from admirers and reporters. Probably even one or two cursed objects from former Death Eaters.

His train of thought was stopped short when Hagrid tapped the wall three times with his umbrella and the bricks trembled and yawned wide into an archway onto the cobbled pathway street of Diagon Alley.

It was perfect.

Mad and spectacular. Fizzling with magic. Bursting with sights and smells. Apothecaries and owl emporiums, Quidditch supply shops and stores packed with globes of the moon and telescopes.

"Gringotts," Hagrid announced as they reached the brilliant white building with grand bronze doors and a pair of Goblins in red and gold robes who bowed as they stepped inside.

Harry, remembering reading about Goblin customs in a beaten up old history book, bowed his head slightly in return. The Goblins blinked at him like he'd just hissed in Klingon.

He and Hagrid walked down a walkway full of counters and found an available Goblin and hurried over.

"Morning. We've come ter take some money outta Mr Harry Potter's safe."

"You have his key, sir?"

 _Well that's worrying_.

Harry had read the Financial Section in _The Daily Prophet_ enough to know how this place worked.

Harry should have been drawn aside for a 'Blood Exam' for confirmation of ownership and fashioned a key on the spot. This key must be his Guardian's Key. Which meant that someone had been keeping hold of it. Someone who thought it wise to give the key to his _entire_ Trust Vault, the Vault that was meant to last him til he was an adult, to Rubeus Hagrid.

Things just got more frightening when Hagrid had to empty his pockets of moldy dog biscuits and lint to find said key.

Harry tried very hard not to panic.

"Got it!" Hagrid said, holding it up proudly.

"That seems to be in order."

 _What?_ Harry scowled. _No it isn't. What happened to the ream of Goblin contracts I'm meant to be traversing right now? The deluge of paperwork. You haven't even asked the name of the strange man who walked in with an underage Wizard and their key. He might be robbing me!_

"An' I've also got a letter here from Professor Dumbledore," Hagrid said, conspiratorially. Very pleased with himself for some reason. "It's about the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen."

"Very well," the Goblin said when he was finished with the letter, "I will have someone take you down to both vaults. Griphook!"

Harry suddenly felt a little sick.

Albus Dumbledore wrote a letter and Rubeus Hagrid got free reign of some mysterious vault.

That didn't sound legal _at all_.

"What's the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen?" Harry asked, as they followed Griphook down a hallway.

"Can't tell yeh that. Very secret. Hogwarts business. Dumbledore's trusted me. More'n my job's worth ter tell yeh that."

That didn't seem like a very sensible decision. Trusting this to a man who lost vault keys in a pocket full of dog biscuits.

Either Dumbledore was very stupid or playing a very strange game.

Griphook held the door open for them and bowed his head slightly while Hagrid walked through. Harry bowed his head back and the reaction was instantaneous.

Griphook's snarl fell and his eyes widened with shock. It took the Goblin a few seconds to recover enough to whistle for the cart.

The cart ride through the maze felt like a brilliant sort of payback for Hagrid setting the mob on him earlier. The giant was wobbling and green by the time they came to a stop but Harry was grinning wickedly. Griphook shared a smirk with him in return as he unlocked the door.

Gold, silver and bronze. More money than Harry'd ever seen in person. And all his.

He was frozen by the sight. Bowled over by it.

Griphook handed him an expandable money pouch and nodded, seeming intrigued when Harry did so in reply.

"Let me know if you need any help, Mr Potter," the Goblin said with an air of significance, like a hidden message.

Harry licked his lips. "Thank you, Master Griphook," Harry whispered, low enough that Hagrid wouldn't hear.

The Goblin grinned.

"C'mon Harry," Hagrid said. "We'll fill you up. We're a'sposed to be gettin' yeh a 'undred Galleon's exactly. How's yer countin'?"

"A hundred?" Harry asked, walking over to a pile of Galleons and picking up a handful. "Why exactly a hundred?"

"Well, Dumbledore said that'd be all yer needed. Any more an' yeh'd be wastin' yer money."

Harry frowned at that. "But I'm probably not coming here for the rest of the year. Wouldn't it make more sense to pick up enough for Christmas gifts and stuff?"

Hagrid hesitated at that, then scowled and shook his head. "Dumbledore said a 'undred exactly. So that's all we're gettin'."

Harry chewed his lip and resisted the urge to argue. "Fair enough," he said. "A hundred it is."

Harry then proceeded to pick up two coins at a time and count them as only one aloud, while Griphook watched curiously from the door.

"Eighty-six, eighty-eight..."

"Mister Hagrid," Griphook called from the door, "can I have a word?"

Hagrid turned his back and walked over to the door as Harry furiously stuffed Galleons, Sickles and Knuts into the bag, scowling the whole time and swearing Dumbledore's name under his breath.

"Yeh done Harry?" Hagrid called from outside.

"Yep!" Harry called back, lifting to his feet and walking to the door.

When the Goblin locked the door again and handed Harry the key, Hagrid suddenly snatched it out his palm again with an apologetic look. "We'll take care of it for yeh, Harry. Jus' send Dumbledore a letter and I'm sure he'll lend it to yeh."

Harry grit his teeth and swallowed down his fury.

"Sure," Harry said, managing to smile. Though he doubted it would convince anybody but Hagrid.

#

Harry had never been more delighted, when Hagrid uttered the words: "Listen, Harry, would yeh mind if I slipped off fer a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron. I hate them Gringotts carts."

"Of course I don't mind," Harry said, voice ripe with false sympathy. "You look real off-color, Hagrid. You've gotta be exhausted after trekking all over the country to find me. Why don't you buy yourself a couple." Harry reached into his pouch and pulled out a galleon. "My treat."

Hagrid blinked at him tearfully. "Bless yeh, lad. Yer a real good'un." He sniffed and gripped the coin. "I will. Go ter Madam Malkin's, she'll set yeh right. I'll be over in a bit."

Harry walked into Madam Malkin's desperately trying to keep his head high and confident, like he walked into magical robe-making shops all the time and definitely _wasn't_ gleeful at the thought of buying his own, _brand new_ clothes made with _magic_.

"Hogwarts, dear?" She said, when Harry was about to speak. "Got the lot here. Another young man being fitted up just now, in fact. Come along, I'll get you measured."

Harry followed the rushing woman into the back, a little bewildered. There on a sort of circular podium was a boy with ice blonde hair and skin as pale as Harry's. Madam Malkin directed Harry to the podium and slipped a robe over his head.

"I was hoping to get--"

"Yes, love. I know, three work robes, coming right up."

Harry frowned. "No. Well, yes, but I also wanted--"

"We don't embroider the Houses for first years. The House Elves do it when you've been Sorted, love. You'll just have to wait."

Harry scowled and huffed. "That's not what I meant. I--"

The boy behind him tittered, grinning gleefully. "You're doing it wrong."

"Huh?"

The boy rolled his eyes. "You don't _request_ , you just state your business. Father always says that hesitation breeds weakness."

Harry lifted a brow at that. This boy's father sounded like a bit of a dick.

He turned back to Madam Malkin and took a breath.

"Three sets of white dress shirts too, please," he said, clearly and succinctly. "And three sets of fitted black trousers. I would like to see a selection of your Winter Cloaks, too."

Madam Malkin blinked at him then jumped to his feet. "Oh, well, of course. You should have said something!"

She rushed from the room to the front, apparently to gather Winter Cloaks.

Harry exhaled and turned to the blonde. "Thanks."

The blonde nodded imperiously in reply. "Not a bad effort. The first time I went robe shopping alone, I was an utter mess. The saleswoman sold me a scarlet dress robe. _Scarlet_." He shuddered. "It was an utter nightmare."

Harry smirked. "Not a Gryffindor fan, then?"

The boy scoffed. "Absolutely not. I am a _Slytherin_. Or, I will be, at least. All our family have been. _Both_ sides. Imagine being in Hufflepuff. I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"

Harry shrugged. "I wouldn't mind it. Especially if my next best option is going to Beauxbatons and trying to bungle my way through French."

The boy snickered. "Or learning Russian and going to Durmstrang. My father almost sent me there, you know. But I'm rather glad mother refused."

Harry nodded gravely. "Scotland is cold enough for me, thank you."

The boy grinned, eyes sparkling, then Madam Malkin rushed into the room carrying a load of Winter Coats. "Speaking of cold weather."

Harry wound up picking out one lined inside with black fur with embroidered silver around the hood and cloak edges, at the blonde boy's insistence that it was the most 'timeless' of the lot. Then, Madam Malkin continued to measure him for his robes, dress shirts and trousers and muttered a few complicated spells, waved her wand and the whole lot was stitched up and a fitted size in seconds.

"That's you done, dear. Would you like to spell them to grow with you? It lasts for the year."

"Yes, please," Harry said and stepped down from the podium.

"I say, look at that man!" The boy said suddenly, nodding towards the window. Hagrid was grinning and holding two ice creams, waiting for Harry to finish.

Harry waved awkwardly at the man. Then sighed. "That's Hagrid."

"Oh, is he with you?" The boy said, nose wrinkling up in distaste.

"Yeah, long story," Harry said. "I was kind of hoping he'd get drunk at the Leaky and forget about me."

The boy smirked. "Hoping, huh? If you were a Slytherin you'd have bought him the pints to be certain of it."

Harry smirked. "I did," he said. "Next time I'll just open a tab." The boy scoffed and Harry paid Madam Malkin the 30 Galleons he owed and stepped toward the door. "See you at Hogwarts!"

"Hey! I never got your name!"

Harry pretended not to hear and stepped out the door. Hagrid was in much better form after a couple of pints. Pointing out all the sights and explaining the rules of Quidditch when Harry had to remind him he didn't (or wasn't supposed to) know anything about it.

When they'd finished their ice creams they stopped in Flourish & Blotts and Harry had to use all his skills of misdirection to swap out the _History of Magic_ and _Magical Drafts and Potions_ books, which he already had second-hand copies of at home, for _Curses and Counter-Curses_ and _Dark or Defense: The Grey Line Between_.

Just as they'd finished getting his telescope and potions supplies, Hagrid proudly announced. "Jus' yer wand left an'--oh yeah, I still haven't got yeh a birthday present."

Harry reddened. "You don't need to do that, Hagrid. Besides, we've still got to get my trunk and some notebooks and quills for classes. I haven't even got a pair of new shoes for school yet."

"Bah, yer don't need all tha'," Hagrid snorted. "'Sides, Dumbledore said 'stick to the list'."

Harry just barely managed to keep from glowering. He chewed his lip and his mind whirred with options. "But, Dumbledore didn't know what the Dursleys were like. He probably thought they'd keep my mum's old trunk or buy me school shoes themselves. But they've never done anything like that and I know Aunt Petunia will have thrown mum's out. If I don't get them myself," Harry drooped miserably, "I don't want to wind up wearing Dudley's ratty old trainers to Hogwarts. I'll get teased. They're always teasing me at school."

Hagrid sniffed and his eyes watered. "Those damned Muggles. I can't believe they've got a drop of Lily's blood. She were such a kind woman, sweet girl. Nothin' like tha' miserable rotter Petunia. Throwin' away Lily's old trunk like tha'. Come on, the we'll go to the Cobblers firs' and find yer a nice pair o' school shoes. Then some notebooks and a trunk. An' then yer birthday gift, I recon. I've got jus' the thing in mind."

They stopped by the cobblers and bought Harry a pair of classic Oxfords, with a whole boatload of charms on them to keep dry and mud-free, as well as grow with him for the year. Then they picked up notebooks and quills. At the trunk shop, Harry was able to distract Hagrid long enough to get one of the fancier Portmanteau's with a password, featherlight charm, expansion charm on the interior and two clever drawers that preserved food, potions and ingredients.

Then Hagrid took him over to Eeylops Owl Emporium and bought Harry's birthday gift, a stunning snowy owl. Even though Harry had been less than impressed by Hagrid's occasional lapses into Albus Dumbledore's loyal minion, he couldn't help but well with gratitude and appreciation when he saw Hagrid pool together what little money he had of his own to buy Harry the owl.

"Thank you so much, Hagrid," Harry said, smiling up at him. "This is one of the best presents I've ever had."

"Don' mention it," Hagrid said, cheeks pinking a little. "Just Ollivanders left now--best place for wands."

Ollivanders felt charged as he stepped in. Like the space was filled with enough static energy to power a lightning bolt. The hairs on his arms tingled and the air felt electric.

"Good afternoon," a soft voice said and Harry jumped out of his skin.

The pale man, Harry assumed Mr Ollivander, creepily went on to tell Harry all about his mother's wand ( _"Willow, ten and a quarter inches, swishy"_ ), his father's wand ( _"Mahogany, eleven inches, pliable"_ ) and also the wand that Dark Lord used to murder his parents.

He stated it all in a far-away voice. Matter of fact. Like quoting statistics.

Harry was more than a little relieved when the man moved on to measuring his arm and searching for a wand to _"choose"_ him.

They went through wands of beech wood, maple and ebony, different cores and sizes. But nothing seemed to match. Then Ollivander got out a wand with an _"unusual combination"_ of holly and phoenix feather. The minute Harry touched it, something just felt right.

He brought it swishing through the air and gold sparks came shooting from the end like fireworks.

Hagrid whooped and Harry beamed. Then, Mr Ollivander went and ruined it all by telling him that the brother to the phoenix feather in his wand had slaughtered his family.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has left lovely messages or kudos! They've really made my day. Hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	7. Chapter 7

"Rubeus _bloody_ Hagrid," Minerva snarled, her voice laced with utter distain, snarling like a lioness fighting for her cubs. "You sent Rubeus _bloody_ Hagrid, the _Grounds Keeper_ , to fetch the _Boy-Who-Lived_."

"Hagrid was a perfectly capable choice," Albus said, eye twinkling genially as if this was all simply an amusing joke, he sat back in the seat behind his desk and folded his hands together, "he needed to go pick up something for me from Gringotts anyway. It seemed sensible."

Severus shuddered with rage. He'd been barely withholding his fury ever since Jiffy reported to him exactly whom had been sent to fetch the boy and explain the Wizarding World to him.

Before that, he had only _suspected_ that Albus was trying to keep the boy ignorant. Now, having heard whom Albus thought a fitting escort, Severus was absolutely certain of it.

He'd sent Hagrid. His bumbling, bleating sycophant who would not bat an eyelash or question his wisdom when the boy was sent back to his abusers. Who would speak of Albus with reverent tones like Merlin reincarnate.

He'd sent _Hagrid_. Not Minerva. Not Filius. Not Pomona. Not a teacher at all.

He sent the _Grounds Keeper_. A Wizard who wasn't even allowed to own a wand.

Severus had been tempted to wring the old bastard's neck himself, but he couldn't exactly reveal how he'd come to know this piece of information. So, he went to the other Heads of House and casually inquired whether they had been the ones sent to speak to the boy.

Then, when Minerva realized _none_ of them had, she'd whirled on Albus like a demon risen from hell.

"Albus," Severus snarled, "do you mean to tell me you sent _Rubeus Hagrid_ to fetch the _Philosopher's Stone_."

The Headmaster's eye twinkled with amusement. "Well, he's the last person here who'd think to use it, isn't he?"

"That's _insane_ , Albus!" Minerva cried. "Rubeus hasn't a real wand! And you sent him to fetch it while the boy was _right there_! You know how awful Hagrid is at keeping secrets!"

"Hagrid can be trusted," Albus insisted.

Oh, the half-Giant could be trusted, well enough. Trusted to _blather_ more than he _should_. Trusted to tell the boy enough to arouse his curiosity.

For some reason, Albus _wanted_ Harry curious. Wanted him to explore and uncover the secret. He was moving Harry about like a chess piece already.

It sickened Severus to his bones.

"Albus," Minerva slammed her hand down on the table. "I _insist_ that you allow me to visit the boy. Hagrid cannot have done an adequate job explaining everything that must be said. He'd forget _his own head_ if it weren't attached. And those Dursleys are such--"

"One moment," Albus said, suddenly stood up and glanced at the Potions Master. "If I could get the room alone with Minerva, Severus."

Ah, so he was still insistent on maintaining the fiction of _'Potter the spoiled, pampered Prince'_. Determined to ensure Severus loathed the boy.

"With pleasure," Severus sneered. "I will see you at the Pre-Term Staff Meeting and not a day sooner, if I can help it."

Minerva huffed at him and rolled her eyes. "Very sorry to intrude upon your brooding, Severus."

"You should be," he said. "Good day, Minerva, Albus."

Severus stepped over to the Headmaster's Floo departed, his mind whirling with anxiety.

Albus Dumbledore was plotting something.

And Severus intended to figure out exactly what.

#

Hagrid sent Harry off on the train to Surrey on his own, with nothing but an envelope enclosing his Hogwarts Express ticket, a twenty pound note and a smile.

If Harry hadn't bought himself a trunk with an expansion charm, he hated to think how much work it would have been to haul his bags of shopping about with him.

He found an empty carriage and stuffed them all his purchases inside his trunk when nobody was looking, then opened a carriage window and his owl's cage.

"I'll meet you at home, okay?" Harry said. "Number Four Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. The Smallest Bedroom. Wait outside if the window is closed."

The little snowy owl hooted in agreement and fluttered out the window. Then Harry closed it and placed the empty cage inside the trunk.

When Harry was sitting on the train, he pulled his ticket to Hogwarts out of the envelope and stared.

Platform Nine and three-quarters. Just like his book had said. He'd dreamed of holding this ticket, of stepping on the Express for the first time.

He smiled down at it, a bubble of excitement swelling in his chest before a realization hit.

Hagrid never told him how to get onto the Platform.

His smile faded.

Harry already knew how, of course. He'd read the _Muggle-born Guide_ book a dozen times and had the instructions memorized for almost a year.

But Hagrid had never actually _told_ him.

If Harry hadn't already known about it, he'd likely have shown up at King's Cross without a clue how to get onto the Platform.

 _Was that an accident,_ Harry wondered, as he remembered all the other little suspicious details of his shopping trip today. Or did Dumbledore make sure Harry wouldn't know how to get onto it. What would be the point of that?

Harry used the money Hagrid had given him to get the bus home from the station. When he got home the door unlocked from the inside and he spotted Jiffy crouching behind it, hiding from the neighbors.

"God am I glad you're here," Harry sighed, "otherwise I'd be sitting on the step all day waiting for the Dursleys."

Jiffy squeaked with indignation. "Jiffy would _never_ let the Young Master sit outside like that! And definitely not on his Birthday!"

Then there was a soft pop and the little House Elf was holding a gorgeous two-tiered chocolate cake with 'Happy Birthday Young Master Harry!' written on the top.

Harry grinned. It looked a lot nicer (and a lot less squished) than Hagrid's. "Wow, Jiffy! This looks amazing!"

Jiffy blushed and grinned proudly. "Jiffy practiced! And Master S taught Jiffy how to write it properly."

Harry smiled. The last of his frustrations about Albus Dumbledore's manipulating ways faded at the sight of a gleeful Jiffy.

"Thank you, Jiffy," he said. "I love it."

The House Elf squeaked with embarrassment but managed not to yelp, cry or pop away as he said his thanks. "M-Master Harry's very welcome."

Jiffy popped away and Harry ascended the stairs to his room. When he turned the key and the hidden flat was revealed, the House Elf was busy cutting him a huge slice of cake and his new Snowy Owl was sitting by the open window.

Then he spotted a package on the table. Wrapped in brown paper and string, with a letter sitting on top.

Harry rushed over and picked up the letter, quickly tearing it open.

#

_Mr Potter,_

_On this day, years ago, your parents held you in their arms and swore to protect you with their lives._

_I know your mother and father would be proud to meet the boy you have become, and even prouder, I suspect, of the man you will one day come to be._

_This trinket was meant for your mother, but I hope that you will appreciate it as a reminder of the love she had for you. A love which doubtless saved your life and which endures to this day._

_Happy Birthday,_

_SS_

#

Harry picked up the small parcel, untied the string and tore away the paper.

Inside was a box. Black and about the size for a watch. When he opened it he found... a lily.

A silver lily with a long stem that curled and looped around to the shape of a bracelet. It was beautiful. Shimmering with magic and as delicate-looking as the flower itself.

Harry picked it up and slid the large cuff onto his wrist and the long silver stem of the lily twisted, swirling around until it was a perfect fit.

It was stunning.

Perfect.

Harry touched the cupped silver lily and smiled.

#

The day after his birthday, Harry woke up and saw the news headline about a break in at Gringotts.

"Vault Seven hundred and thirteen," Harry read aloud, realizing almost instantly why it sounded so familiar.

It was the same Vault that Hagrid had picked up a strange package from, on Dumbledore's order. That couldn't be a coincidence.

He'd written a whole long essay for SS after that, clipping the article and hiding it in his drawer. He told SS everything. Not just the bizarre news headline and the strange parcel that Hagrid had taken. But also about the strange fact that he'd been picked up by _Hagrid_ and not a teacher, and how Hagrid had described the last war.

He ranted about the whole infuriating and genuinely terrifying mess with his own Gringotts vault and his worry that Dumbledore was withholding his money from him for reasons he didn't want to think about. The weird budget that had been implemented just made things more bizarre and he finished up with how Hagrid had given him his ticket and left without actually _telling_ him how to get to Platform nine and three-quarters.

SS's reply had been succinct and strangely comforting in its savagery.

_'Every time I think I humanity has plunged to the deepest depths of my lowest expectations, I find another trench. Albus Dumbledore, as you have surmised, is a manipulative and controlling Warlock who withholds his real agenda from even his closest allies, forcing those around him to bend to his will and trust in his "divine plan"._

_'The Headmaster intends, it would seem, to move you about like a pawn, set you on a path of his choosing, whatever that may be. We, instead, will be plotting the territory, ready to find a path of your own. Do not fret about Albus Dumbledore, Harry. We will deal with him in due course.'_

Harry decided to listen and, instead of worrying, he began to practice his first spells.

Though it was technically a few months until the Ministry started tracing his magic, he was still grateful that SS had set the wards around his flat to hide when he performed magic from the Ministry's Trace.

He'd already memorized the Common Household Spells Chapter in _The Wizarding World: A Muggle-born Guide_ by heart (he'd used a pencil at the time, but hopefully it was better than no practice at all), but he'd never actually performed a spell. The author of the book had warned that:

_'Though most people claim there is no true advantage, academically speaking, to being in a Wizarding household compared to a Muggle one, I believe this assertion to be patently false. Those who live in a Wizard household have summer periods to train and practice, as well as a childhood familiarizing themselves with everyday magic._

_'Students from Muggle households do not have these advantages. They are tracked over the summer to prevent the "Improper Use of Underage Magic", but children from Wizarding Households are not held to the same strictures, as it is difficult to monitor and so left to the parents to supervise. This leaves those from Muggle households to work twice as hard to get half as far in their studies. Do not let anybody tell you otherwise.'_

Harry took the passage to heart and so began his studies. He wasn't going to waste this time he had before he started at Hogwarts.

His first spell was the _Aguamenti_ charm. It was a simple enough incantation, with an easy flick of the hand. But his first attempt propelled a jet of water at the sleeping Hedwig, who screeched indignantly and evacuated the room.

He got the hang of the spell after a few more disastrous attempts. It was a surprisingly difficult charm to master. He had to focus on where you intended the stream of water to go. It reminded him a bit of manipulating magic during his Occlumency practice. But, once he'd got the hang of it, the other spells fell into place much easier.

After that, he learned the _Reparo_ , _Scourgify_ , _Point Me_ and _Accio_ charms. He went through all the spells he could find, determined not to be behind his Wizarding-raised peers.

When he'd exhausted himself with all his practice, he read through some of his new books. _Magical Theory_ by Adalbert Waffling was a rambling mess, but once you spent some some translating the bizarre terminology and overblown sentences, it was actually really useful.

The book explained why certain motions, whether it be the movement of your wand in a spell, or the direction you stirred a potion, were so important to the success of a magical practice. Deisul, or clockwise, was in union with direction of magic's natural current (and the direction of the earth's rotation) and Widdershins, anti-clockwise, went against it and so produced a kind of resistance.

It also went into a lot of detail about transfiguration. The different branches, the five variables to carrying out a successful transfiguration, Gamp's Law and a whole _'Philosophy of Conjuration and Vanishment'_ section. With questions such as, was it immoral to vanish a living creature, and why Vanishment worked on some living creatures but not others.

Harry felt as though he had to immerse himself in the work, or else he'd go crazy. He was thrumming with so much excitement and worry he could barely sleep.

Harry got up early that Sunday 1st, dressed in his black trousers, white shirt and polished oxfords and ate breakfast one last time in his home.

Jiffy sniffed and bawled as she handed over _The Daily Prophet_ and a letter from SS.

"Jiffy's going to," sniff, "miss Master Harry," sniff, "so much!"

"I'll miss you, too," Harry said, smiling at her, "but you can still visit when nobody's about, can't you?"

Sniff. "Master S told Jiffy not to 'overindulge' Young Master Harry, so Jiffy's only to go to pass letters when you call her and," sniff, "Jiffy can't go being seen by the Hogwarts Elves or they'll tell the Headmaster."

Harry sighed. "I'm sorry, Jiffy. I'm going to miss you. But maybe we could write?"

"Write?" Jiffy straightened and wiped her eyes. "Master Harry would write Jiffy letters?"

Harry nodded. "And you could write back. Would that be alright?"

"Yes!" Jiffy squeaked. "Jiffy be practicing her writing!"

Harry grinned. "Great, so it's a plan."

Jiffy squealed with delight and popped away.

Harry chuckled and turned to the letter, tearing it open and peering inside.

#

_Mr Potter,_

_Good luck today and do not worry too much on interfering old fools._

_Yours faithfully,_

_SS_

_P.S. You made the front page, yet again._

#

Harry smiled then unfurled the paper and chuckled as he spotted that the front page article.

'THE RETURN OF THE BOY-WHO-LIVED'

They'd got out the old photograph of him stepping out of a shop and SS had doodled a speech bubble saying: _'Tabloid rubbish'_.

Harry burst with a laugh and flicked to the Financial Pages and Potioneers News.

#

Uncle Vernon had outright refused to drive Harry to the station. They'd booked to go see a movie with Dudley that Sunday and no way in hell was Dudley going to miss out so that Harry could go to his 'Freak School', especially after Hagrid had nearly hexed the boy with a pig's tail (Harry had talked the Wizard out of it, but no good deed ever went unpunished when it came to the Dursleys).

Harry already had his expectations in the Dursley set to 'extremely low', so he wasn't that fussed when he had to make an stupidly early departure for the Hogwarts Express.

It took him one bus to Woking Station, a platform change at Victoria and a lot of wandering around Kings Cross, but he found platforms nine and ten, with half an hour to spare.

As instructed, he played dumb. SS had told him that he should act as if someone was lingering nearby to watch him, even if it were unlikely. So Harry wandered about the Platform looking very confused and asking a bewildered guard for directions.

After a few minutes, Harry then began to 'inspect' the walls, cautiously tapping his wand on bricks, like Hagrid has in the Leaky Cauldron, until he 'discovered' the magical barrier and walked right through.

There it was. Just like he read. The Hogwarts Express. He grinned at the red steam engine and the bustling platform. Students yelled and parents sobbed. Pets flew and scuttled about around them.

Harry was so busy taking in the sights and sounds, he forgot to move out of the way of the barrier.

A trolley came slamming into his back and an infuriated ginger-haired boy with a prefect badge scowled at him.

"Move _away_ from the barrier when you've walked through," he said with the tone of a jaded schoolteacher. "Are you okay? Do you need a Medi-Witch?"

"No. I'm okay, thank you," Harry winced, rubbing his sore back and stepped down the platform.

He walked down the platform until he found an empty carriage, then slipped his featherlight trunk on board. He'd been thankful more than once during his long trip to King's Cross that he'd managed to talk Hagrid into letting him buy a new trunk. He had to get Hedwig to meet him at Hogwarts, since taking an owl on public transportation was bound to get him a few funny looks.

Harry took a seat by the window, half hidden as the family's bustled about saying heartfelt goodbye's.

Something ached miserably inside his chest as he watched them. He reached for his left wrist and stroked the silver lily on his bracelet, swallowing the feeling down.

The minutes ticked by as the train filled and the platform's bustling grew more frenzied.

"Albus was sure he'd be there," a voice muttered outside the train.

_Albus?_

When Harry peered outside he spotted a woman, surrounded by children. All of them with the same shock of ginger hair and smattering of freckles.

"Who?" Asked a gangly boy with a smudge of dirt on his nose.

"You know who--no not... I meant, _you know_ ," she peered around the platform worriedly.

"Oh!" The girl beside her squeaked, suddenly frantically checking the platform. "You mean _him_."

" _Who_?" The boy huffed.

"The poor dear grew up Muggle," the woman muttered, ignoring her son. "Albus said he might have trouble finding the platform, bless him. But he must have asked someone else."

" _Who_!?" The boy yelled, waving his hands about.

The woman rolled her eyes. "Harry Potter, of course. We _told_ you about this."

"Oh!" The boy gasped, grabbing his suitcase. "Should I go and--?"

"In a bit," his mother said. "You go find him later. He's not going to be mobbed by Dark Wizards the minute he sits down."

Harry sat back suddenly, eyes wide. He stealthily checked his scar was covered and chewed his lip.

 _Holy shit_ , Harry gripped his hands into fists, _what the hell is this?_

There was more bickering outside as two twins, Fred and George, offered to mail their younger sister a Hogwarts toilet seat and the mother threatened to tell 'Minnie' about it.

Then the whistle blew and they were flooding onto the train, yelling their goodbye's from the carriage windows.

Harry tried to breathe steadily, trying to figure out what the hell they'd been talking about, it was a few minutes before he remembered to occlude.

He felt his mind clear as his magic crept through it. His thoughts became sharp and clear again.

The woman had been waiting for him outside the platform barrier. Dumbledore had told her to look out for him. He'd told her to, when he could have just contacted Harry with instructions.

 _She called him Albus_ , Harry remembered. First name basis implied friendship in the Wizarding World. Or some kind of equal footing. Which meant she was close to him. Possibly part of his 'inner circle'.

 _She talked to her son about me,_ Harry realized. It almost sounded as if they'd been _planning_ for him to make friends with the ginger boy.

_"He's not going to be mobbed by Dark Wizards the minute he sits down."_

The compartment door clattered and a flare of red appeared inside. Harry looked up and saw the freckled boy with the smudge on his nose.

The boy was peering at him curiously, like he was trying to figure out a puzzle. He frowned at Harry's neat wispy hair, his sharp cheekbones and the complete lack of thick-lensed glasses, then seemed to decide this wasn't who he was looking for and charged away again to check the next compartment.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief, a little pleased, for once, that he didn't look like his father.

Harry had a couple of hours of blissful silence, reading his _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ textbook and looking through SS's comments in _The Daily Prophet_.

Then trolley witch arrived and he gleefully grabbed a handful of everything he could. Chocolate frogs, Bertie Botts Every-flavor Beans, Sugar Quills and Ice Mice. He sat in his compartment trying one of each. He'd been seeing adverts for Honeydukes in _The Daily Prophet_ all year and the treats did not disappoint.

Then all hell broke loose.

His compartment door slammed open and there stood the ginger boy, looking a little peeved and ruffled, standing behind a girl with frizzy hair and a determined gleam in her eye.

"State your name, please," she said with an air of authority.

Harry frowned. "Excuse me?"

"State your name," she sighed, as if he were being very difficult, " _please_."

"Why?"

"Because we're looking for someone," she folded her arms. "We're checking that he got on the train okay."

Harry suddenly got a really bad feeling. "Wh-who?"

She scowled. "Look, all you need to know is that we're making sure that a boy got on the train. We think he may have missed it and we need to be sure so that the teacher's can be informed."

_Oh, bugger._

This was bad. If he didn't tell them his name, this girl was probably going to have teacher's scouring all of King's Cross for his corpse. But if he did...

Harry swallowed and peered at the scowling red-headed boy who'd apparently conspired with his parents and a meddling Headmaster to befriend him.

"If he missed the train then he'll just tell his parents or guardians, won't he?" Harry reasoned. "He might have already contacted someone."

The girl's nose lifted. " _Excuse_ me," she scoffed. "It would be _irresponsible_ not to inform an adult about a _missing child_. You're not appraised of the situation, so let us handle it."

"Appraised of what?"

"None of your business," the redhead scowled. "Look, let's just go. It's not him."

The girl peered at Harry furiously, staring deep into his face like she was trying to see past a glamour. Then she sighed and slammed the carriage door closed, wandering to the next.

When Harry had time alone in the carriage, he realized the terrible, awful, miserable mistake he'd just made.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Thanks again for all the lovely messages and kudos. It's been so rewarding to see people enjoying what I write. I hope you like this chapter, too.
> 
> Just a quick note on Ron and Hermione. I don't want this to turn into a proper 'Hermione Bashing' or 'Ron Bashing' fic. I like their characters but thought that they could both do with a little dose of reality. Hermione's got a bit of a superiority complex and an unhealthy craving for external validation that I want to help her overcome (eventually) and Ron is going to have to learn to think for himself and question Dumbledore's orders (though that might take another book to get to that point). Hope that sits well with everyone.
> 
> Anyway, I plan to get the next chapter up this week. Until then :)


	8. Chapter 8

It took only another half hour for the whole train to go full alert. At some point one of his two stalkers had let slip who they were looking for and then _everybody_ seemed to know that _"The Harry Potter"_ was MIA.

Students of every age began scouring the train. Just the first and second years at first, but soon enough everyone was. It wasn't long before some upper year finally just barged into the compartment and used a small Ventus jinx to blow Harry's fringe out the way.

" _You're_ Harry Potter?" A tall Ravenclaw boy asked, frowning a little, as if he were disenfranchised by the thought.

"Er, no," Harry said.

"You must be," the boy said, frowning. Then pointed to his forehead. "You've got the scar."

"Uh..."

"I'm gonna go get a Prefect."

 _Crap_.

The boy swept away and Harry sank with his head in his hand. This was a sodding nightmare. He could hear all the students madly checking the compartments asking to see people's foreheads and generally making a big song and dance out of this.

He was utterly screwed. He'd not even stepped off the train yet and already he was going to be in trouble with the teachers.

If he had Hedwig with him he could at least send them a letter, but as it was he'd need to come clean.

The door slammed open and Harry looked up.

"Have you seen--" the blonde boy from Madam Malkin's stood there staring, then grinned. "Oh, it's _you_!"

Harry froze. "Huh?"

"From Madam Malkin's," the boy said, stepping inside then lifting out his hand. "I never introduced myself. Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."

Harry smiled awkwardly and stood, shaking the boy's hand. "Nice to meet you, Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."

The boy snorted and smirked. "Well?"

"Uh, well what?"

The boy rolled his eyes. "This is the part where you state _your name_ ," he huffed.

"Oh, is it?" Harry winced.

Draco Malfoy paused, freezing in place and his brow lifting. He peered in Harry's eyes and then lit up like Christmas had come early.

"Oh, _Merlin_ ," Malfoy gasped, hands clasped together like he was praying to the dead Wizard in thanks. "Oh, Merlin, Salazar and _Morgana_! You're--"

"Shh!" Harry hissed, slamming the compartment shut. "Oh god, this is a mess. They're going to have a sodding search party out in half an hour."

Malfoy cried out a loud "Hah!" Then he snorted. "They already do, have you seen the hallway lately? Give it a few minutes and they'll stop the train."

Harry groaned, hand clasped around his eyes. "I'm screwed. They're going to kick me out of Hogwarts before I even arrive."

"As if they'd dare," Malfoy smirked. "You're the Boy-Who-Lived. You could _Avada_ half the staff at Hogwarts and they'd still enroll you next year to finish off the other half."

Harry choked on a laugh. "I doubt that."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Fine, if you're that worried about it. Dobby!"

A House Elf suddenly popped into the carriage, wearing a grubby pillowcase and looking significantly more miserable than Jiffy ever had.

"Yes, Young Master?"

"Please inform Professor Snape that Harry Potter is alive and well, on the Hogwarts Express, and cowering from his fan-club in a desperate attempt to avoid being mobbed."

The House Elf straightened. "Harry Potter!" Dobby cried. Then twisted to stare adoringly at Harry as if he were the living embodiment of sainthood. "Dobby is so honored Mister Harry Potter! So honored! Dobby be hearing all about--"

"Dobby!" Malfoy cried. "Stop that! Just go pass along the message."

The House Elf suddenly popped away.

"There," Malfoy said. "Nothing to worry about."

Harry finally exhaled with relief. "Who is Prof--"

The compartment slid open and standing in the doorway was the ginger boy, the frizzy haired girl and the ginger Prefect who'd nearly knocked him over on the Platform.

"You?" The youngest boy cried, eyes wide. "I thought you said you weren't?"

"Technically you just _assumed_ I wasn't."

The girl scowled and folded her arms. "A lie of omission is still a lie, you know? How _could_ you? We were worried about you!"

Harry seriously doubted that. She'd honestly seemed more like she just wanted to play hero and score points with the teachers, but he supposed there was no point arguing about it.

"I apologize," Harry said, doing a fairly decent impression of contrition, "but I panicked. The last time I got outed as the _Boy-Who-Lived_ I got swarmed by admirers all clamoring to touch my forehead." He winced. "I was just hoping for a bit of quiet."

The girl scowled at him and twirled away in a huff.

"That's still no excuse not to seek out a Prefect to explain before things got out of hand," the prefect said, folding his arms. "We sent out an emergency message to Hogwarts. They might already be looking around King's Cross right now."

"That hardly seems fair," Malfoy jumped in, folding his arms.

The prefect scowled. "He caused a scene," the boy said. "If he'd come forward sooner--"

"It's not as if he _asked_ for the entire train to go into high alert looking for him," Malfoy sneered. "No wonder he kept his head down. I'd keep quiet too if a couple hundred children were running around looking for me. Magic only knows what they'd do if they actually _found_ him. If he is that important then a teacher should have escorted him to the platform to begin with and ensured he safely boarded."

The prefect sighed and nodded. "Okay, I see your point. I'm sure your Head of House will deal with this after you're Sorted."

_Oh, wonderful. Brilliant start, Harry._

The prefect slid away and the other boy stepped inside. "Are you really Harry Potter?" He asked, squinting at his forehead like he was trying to see his scar past Harry's fringe. "You don't look much like him."

Harry scowled at that. "I don't look like... _myself_?"

"Well, yeah--no," the boy waved the comment away then straightened, "anyway, I'm Ron."

 _Straight to first name basis_ , Harry noted. _Not a traditionalist, then._

Beside Harry, Malfoy sneered. "Oh, of course," he said. "Red hair, freckles and absolutely _no_ _class_. Must be a Weasley. Which one are you, again? Eleventh or twelfth?"

Ron glowered. "Better than being a _Death Eater_."

A tense silence fell over the compartment as Draco's cheeks pinked and his spine straightened. But the boy didn't utter a word, just scowled at Ron like he was thinking of cursing him.

Ron turned to Harry. "Come on, Harry. You don't want to hang out with _his sort_."

Harry frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Ron blinked. "You know," he lowered his voice like he was whispering a secret. "Dark Wizards. Slytherins. That sort. His dad was arrested, you know. Only got off by lying that he was bewitched. Malfoy's only hanging out with you for who you are."

"As opposed to you?" Harry asked.

Ron flushed red, blinking. "That--I'm not--"

"You're not?" Harry folded his arms. "You _didn't_ scour the train looking for the _Boy-Who-Lived_?"

"So did he!" Ron yelled, pointing at a very smug Malfoy. "I saw him checking the carriages same as everyone!"

"And he doesn't get a say in who I'm friends with either," Harry said, unfolding his arms. "I don't judge people based on their family."

"Look," Ron lowered his voice and tried to breathe, "you're new to this stuff, so you don't get it. The Malfoy's are _Dark Wizards_ , like You-Know-Who and his followers. _His_ family fought _ours_ in the war. They did all kinds of nasty stuff, killed people. He only wants to be friends with you because there's this stupid rumor that you're the next You-Know-Who in the making."

"Then he'll be disappointed," Harry said. "In the mean-time, I repeat: _'I don't judge people based on their family'_. Even if his family did that, I'm still not gonna judge him based on _their_ actions. We're _eleven_. I seriously doubt he's learned how to cast a Killing Curse yet."

Malfoy almost seemed offended by the suggestion he wasn't a cut-throat killer from the crib. But got over it quick enough to send another victorious smirk Ron's way.

"You heard him," Malfoy said. "Run along, Weasley."

The boy reddened with rage, folding his arms. "I'm not going anywhere, _Malfoy_ ," he snarled. "Not with you around."

Harry felt a roll of exhaustion. He closed his eyes and occluded. Feeling a relief as the clarity swept through his mind.

He really didn't want to hang around this Dumbledore minion, but if the Headmaster was determined to make him befriend the 'right people', it might be better to let him think Harry was. Otherwise the interfering old coot would just try something else.

 _'Keep them ignorant.'_ Harry remembered.

An idea crept into his mind.

Harry chewed his lip and looked at Malfoy, twisting his body slightly so Ron couldn't see.

The blonde boy met his eye, frowning inquisitively.

Harry gave the boy a significant look, hoping to magic that the boy was as natural a Slytherin as he claimed. "I'll see you later, Malfoy." The boy looked offended at first, then quizzical, the cogs whirring. "Thanks for all your help."

Harry raised his brows pleadingly.

Slowly, recognition flooded the boy's face, then relief, before he packed it all away under a veneer of arrogance.

"You heard him, Malfoy," Ron snickered behind them. " _Run along_."

"Whatever, Potter," he lifted his nose. "When you wish to converse with a more _civilized_ sort, find me."

The boy shoved Ron as he swept from the compartment. Ron grinned and plonked himself on the seat opposite Harry's. "What a knob head, huh?"

"I thought he seemed nice," Harry said, then instantly regretted it when the redhead launched into a rant.

#

Severus felt a little smug as the stairs ascended to the Headmaster's Office.

He straightened and hid his vengeful glee beneath his mental barriers, manufacturing a characteristic scowl before he swept into the room.

Madness greeted him within.

Minerva yelled in a high-pitched screech. Two Aurors barked in turn. Pomona paced the room, vibrating with panic and dismay and Hagrid bawled miserably in the corner.

Head Auror Rufus Scrimgeour snarled from the other side of Albus's desk, hand slamming as he spoke.

"You _should_ have given the boy an _escort_!" He growled. "Or at least sent a _competent_ employee to _explain_ all this!"

"Hagrid is--"

"An _imbecile_ who _left_ the child to travel home _alone_!" The Head Auror barked, fist slamming over and over into the wood as he spoke.

"I told you, Albus!" Minerva cried. "I asked you to send me to speak to the boy! You assured me that it would be handled!"

"I was certain it had been. I spoke to the Weasley's to keep an eye out--"

"You _what_!" Scrimgeour cried. "You spoke to _someone else_ but failed to contact _him_! You _imbecilic_ \--"

The Floo flared into life and out stepped a furious Kingsley Shacklebot, eyes lit with rage.

Scrimgeour turned and straightened. "Report!"

"The Dursley's _did not_ drop the boy at the station," Kinglsey said, voice laced with a fierce calm. "The boy left their home at quarter to nine, to take a _Muggle_ _bus_ to Woking station," he glared at Albus, " _alone_."

Minerva gasped and Hagrid wailed louder, blowing his nose into a giant handkerchief.

The Headmaster's face fell with genuine worry. Regret and panic flaring there as he realized the depths to which he'd risked the boy's life.

The room silenced with a desolate air. Nightmarish scenarios flaring in their eyes. Of the boy kidnapped by Death Eaters. Killed or tortured. Or stabbed and mugged in an alley and left for dead.

It was absolutely _perfect_. Severus shivered with satisfaction at the sight. He almost wished the boy did this deliberately, to exact revenge on the Headmaster for his halfwitted meddling.

Only when the misery and dread had reached its absolute peak and the adults in the room looked suitably mutinous, only _then_ did Severus deign to intervene.

"Albus," Severus began, "if I may have a word."

"Severus," Albus muttered into his hands, "I'm _busy_ right now."

"I had gathered," Severus said, gazing toward Kingsley Shacklebot in particular, who looked as if he were considering whether he could get away with a Crucio in front of this may witnesses. Minerva, at least, seemed as if she'd let it slide. "I received a report from a Malfoy House Elf two minutes ago. Harry Potter, and I quote," Severus cleared his throat, "'is alive and well, on the Hogwarts Express, and cowering from his fan-club in a desperate attempt to avoid being mobbed.'"

The rest of the room looked only mildly comforted by the news. Albus Dumbledore looked a little as if he'd prefer that Harry was genuinely missing.

"A _Malfoy_ House Elf?" Minerva said, grimacing as if saying the name left an awful taste in her mouth.

"Yes," Severus said. "Though _I'm_ more of the mind that the Boy-Who-Lived dreamt this up as another _desperate_ plea for attention, The young Mr Malfoy seems to believe otherwise," Severus sneered, rolling his eyes.

Scrimgeour twisted toward Albus and glared once more. "I will require you to confirm it once he makes it to the castle. I trust that you can manage _that much_ , at least."

Albus swallowed and nodded miserably. "Apologies, Rufus. I will--"

"It's _Auror Scrimgeour_ , Professor," the man sneered, "and from now on you will send the boy's Head of House to collect him from his home and escort him _directly_ to the platform. He's a target for Dark Wizards and _you_ , of all people, should know better than to play games with the boy's life."

"I will make sure of it," Minerva said, stepping forward to shake hands with the Head Auror. "Thank you very much for your swift work on this, Auror Scrimgeour. I will escort the students from the platform myself and inform you immediately when I find him."

"Thank you, Deputy Headmistress," Scrimgeour shook her hand. "I'm glad there is at least _one_ competent person in charge of this school."

The four Auror's swept away quickly, with Kingsley shooting one last mutinous glare Dumbledore's way before he entered the Floo.

There was a silence while Hagrid sniffed and Pomona tried to settle her breathing.

Albus swallowed. "I had--"

"Not _one_ word, Albus," Minerva growled, finger lifted toward the old man's face, "not _one_. You should be ashamed of yourself. The boy is relying on us, _on_ _you_ , to safeguard him into adulthood. I can tell when you're plotting your games, Albus and this _stinks_ of one."

The Headmaster looked as if he were thinking of speaking, but evidently thought better of it. Minerva swirled around to face the Potions Master.

"Severus, I am going to need time to clean this all up. I've already received a whole barrel's worth of letters from nosy reporters and parents. The _last_ thing we need is for this to make tomorrow's front page. Could I leave you in charge of the Sorting?"

"Of course," Severus said. "Leave it to me."

"Thank you," she said with a short breath, then turned. "Follow me, I'll fetch you the list."

#

"Here, can you help me eat these Chocolate Frogs?" Harry said, passing one to Ron. "I'm trying to collect the cards but I'm stuffed to the brim."

The boy lit up eagerly, staring down at the offering like it was the most delicious thing he'd ever seen. "You sure?"

"O'course," Harry said, taking his seat. "Help yourself. I got a little excited when I spotted the trolley-witch come by."

Ron grinned and ripped open the packaging, tearing the head off the frog with wild abandon. "Honeedukesh rr th' besht."

"Honeydukes?" Harry asked, feigning ignorance. "Is that like Cadbury's?"

As predicted, Ron burst into a gleeful explanation of Honeydukes treats, seeming to have memorized every sweet in the entire shop. Harry couldn't for the life of him figure out why anyone would want to eat, let alone _invent_ 'cockroach clusters' but acted suitably impressed.

"I don't get much chance to eat 'em though," Ron admitted with a miserable frown. "I've got five brothers and one sister, so everything gets split seven ways. My brother Bill used to bring home Honeydukes for me when he was at Hogwarts, but he graduated years ago."

"That sounds nice, though, having lots of family," Harry said. "I'd love to have brothers to hang out with."

Ron shrugged, chewing on the frogs leg. "You never get anything new, though, with five brothers. I've got Bill's old robes, Charlie's old wand and Percy's old rat."

Then Ron reached into his jacket and revealed a slumbering grey rat, who was a little tubby and balding in various spots. "His name's Scabbers and he's useless, he hardly ever wakes up. Percy got an owl from my dad for being a Prefect, but they couldn't aff--I mean, I got Scabbers instead."

The boy pinked, apparently humiliated at the thought of being part of a family of limited means.

"There's no shame in that," Harry said. "It's just _stuff_. I'd trade fancy new stuff for a family who loved me, any day of the week."

Ron blinked at that, a little astonished. Then winced a little and reddened. "Oh, yeah. I suppose so..."

The boy still didn't sound very convinced. Harry decided it was time to change the subject. "Why were you looking for me, by the way?"

"Oh, that?" Ron asked, a little nervous. "Well, er, I was just worried you'd not got on the train."

"Why?" Harry asked. "Why wouldn't I have?"

"Well, um, you're Muggle-raised, so we worried you might not know about the barrier."

"Who worried?"

"Mum," Ron said, reddening, then seemed to swiftly change the subject by picking up the Chocolate Frog card. "Oh, hey, look, you got Dumbledore."

The boy shoved the card at Harry and stared down at the picture. He'd seen pictures of the man before, in the Prophet, but this was in color. The man twirled in brightly colored robes, blue eyes twinkling and stroking his long white beard.

_He's really going for the 'Modern Merlin' look, isn't he?_

He turned the card and read the inscription.

_Albus Dumbledore, currently Headmaster of Hogwarts. Considered by many the greatest wizard of modern times, Professor Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel. Professor Dumbledore enjoys chamber music and tenpin bowling._

Harry noted with interest how they'd specifically chosen to call Grindelwald a _'dark wizard'_ instead of a _'Dark Lord'_ , and how the Headmaster had chosen to specify a Muggle hobby, as if to scream to the world: _"I love Muggles!"_

 _Nicholas Flamel_ , Harry noted. _Doesn't ring a bell_.

The door suddenly swept open and there stood the bossy girl with bushy hair, standing ahead of a blonde-haired boy he'd seen on the platform.

The girl scowled at Harry as if she was offended by his presence, then lifted up her nose. "Have you seen a toad? Neville's lost one."

Ron shook his head.

Just as the girl turned to leave, Harry spoke up. "Try a _Monstro_ charm," he suggested. "It'll only work on small, close-by objects, but it's something. I haven't got the hang of the Accio charm yet. Only seems to work properly half the time."

The girl turned and frowned. "I have it handled, _thank you_."

"It's gotta be easier than checking all the compartments one at a time," Harry frowned, then pulled out his wand and set it on his hand. " _Monstro, Neville's Toad!_ "

Harry's wand twitched toward the door.

"Wicked!" Ron whispered. "When'd you learn that, mate?"

"It's not _that_ impressive," the girl said, her face glowing red, "I'd have thought of it too but it isn't in _The Standard Book of Spells_ , Grade 1 _or_ Grade 2, so it's a waste of time learning it, really, since it's obviously _not_ on the curriculum. I had better things to spend my time on, you know, than--"

She continued to prattle on about how she'd read all her textbooks and memorized the entirety of _A Beginners Transfiguration_ , _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ , and _Magical Drafts and Potions_. Which was apparently a "much more useful application of your time".

Harry stood up and followed the point of the wand to where Neville was standing. When the nervous boy stepped out of the way, the wand followed him to where he stepped.

" _I_ have it handled!" The girl said.

Harry gripped the wand and waved it in the correct pattern. " _Accio Neville's Toad!_ "

An astonished toad came whizzing out of Neville's pocket and into Harry'd outstretched hand.

"Trevor!" Neville cried, grabbing for him and clutching him tight in an effort to keep the toad from fleeing.

The girl turned a very funny shade of red, which quickly spread into purple. She looked at Harry like he was the most awful person on the face of the planet.

Neville, however, looked awed. "Thank you! Thank you so much, uh--"

"Harry."

Neville's eyes bulged and his cheeks pinked. "Uh, uh, um, th-thanks, Harry."

"No problem."

Neville then recovered enough to turn to the girl and add a: "Thanks for all your help too, Hermione."

The girl straightened and muttered a "you're welcome," before she dashed away, pointedly not looking at Harry at all.

"That was wicked, mate!" Ron beamed as Neville waved and scuttled away. "Where'd you learn that?"

Harry hesitated.

_Oh, crap._

He wasn't supposed to own _The Wizarding World: A Muggle-born Guide_ , since Dumbledore had made extra certain that he didn't get anything other than the required reading. And Hermione seemed convinced it wasn't in their textbooks.

Harry licked his lips. "Oh, well, when I found out that my mum was a Witch, I went through the attic looking for stuff of hers. I found this old book stuffed at the bottom of a box. Think my aunt must have missed it, otherwise she would have definitely burned it. It had a bunch of common household spells, so I just practiced a few."

Ron seemed to buy this excuse without question. The book was very old, second hand, and there were no identifying marks on it to suggest it had belonged to anyone other than Lily Potter. If anyone asked to see it, Harry reckoned that he could easily convince them it was hers.

That could work. In fact, it solved a few problems.

"That's how I knew how to get through the barrier," Harry said, sitting back down in his seat. "It's this guide for Muggle-borns, so they explained how to get to Platform nine and three-quarters."

"Oh!" Ron said. "So _that's_ how you got through. Well, that explains it."

Harry licked his lips and frowned curiously. "I was a little confused why nobody told me, though. Maybe Dumbledore thought Hagrid told me, or something. You'd think they'd send a letter or something to Muggle-raised kids, explaining all this stuff."

Ron straightened at that, a realization finally hitting. He frowned as a uncertainty flickered in his eyes. "You're... right. He could have just sent you a letter," Ron murmured, staring out the window. "That would've made more sense."

"Exactly," Harry sighed. "Well, he must have just thought Hagrid told me. At least it all worked out okay."

Ron sank a little at that, guilt-ridden. "Right... yeah. Of course."

A disembodied voice interrupted their musing to tell them the train would arrived at Hogwarts in five minutes.

Harry quickly grabbed his suitcase and drew on his robes and his hat, while Ron turned very pale and dashed through the corridor to find his own bag in a hurry.

The platform was dark by the time they arrived and somewhere at the end he heard a woman with a Scottish brogue calling out: "First years here, please! Line up, quietly, _no pushing_! First years, here please!"

Harry stepped over while Ron rushed over to follow him, puffing and huffing with his hat crooked and his nose still smudged with dirt.

"Line up, line up," the woman announced, sounding very stern and tired, as if she had much better things to do. "Very good." Her eyes roamed over the student's faces. "My name is Professor McGonagall and I will be escorting you to Hogwarts. But, first, Mr Harry Potter, please step forward."

There was a murmuring of excitement through the students as they searched around.

Harry winced and stepped forward, hand lifted. "Here, Professor."

The woman turned to him and froze, eyes widening with shock and... something else entirely.

#

When Minerva stepped through the back door to the Great Hall, she looked oddly pale. She scurried quickly over to Severus, as he stood beside the Sorting Hat, with a sort of wide-eyed astonishment in her eyes.

"What's wrong?" The Potions Master asked, frowning. "Was Potter there?"

"Ah, yes," she swallowed, her eyelashes fluttering as she breathed through some kind of panic, "he's... fine." She sucked in a breath. "I think maybe I should do the Sorting after all."

Severus frowned. "Don't be absurd. You haven't the time. I said I'd do it and I will. Wrangling the press is a more pressing matter."

The woman's eyes glinted as she stared at him. "I... if you're sure. I just..." she glanced over to the table, where Albus was watching them curiously. "If you ever need to _talk_ , Severus, about anything at all, you know I'll listen. Don't you? I don't judge. Just--"

"Minerva, you're pledge of undying friendship has been noted. Now, let's _please_ just get this torturous event over with."

She pursed her lips and froze, unsettled and hesitant. "Very well, Severus, just," she bit her lip, "steel yourself."

The woman swept away before Severus had a chance to ask her what in Merlin's name she was talking about.

Then she walked the line of first year students through the door and into a row.

Severus could hear some irritating know-it-all quoting _Hogwarts: A History_ like an unpaid tour guide and a another whispering something about wrestling a troll.

Severus walked forward, set down the stool and the hat and stepped back while it sang that tiresome song, while Severus entertained the thought of setting the infuriating relic alight.

He occluded to restrain himself, then waited with increasingly frayed patience for the thing to cease its barbaric attempts at poetry.

"You're in safe hands (though I have none), for I'm a thinking cap!" Came the last line and the hall burst into applause.

 _Imbeciles_ , Severus rolled his eyes, noting with pride that the Slytherin table's applause was rather more subdued.

Severus stepped forward and met the eye of a few students in the line that snickered and jostled. They quickly ceased when they spotted Severus's glare.

"When I call your name," he said with a soft tone that carried well in the utter silence of the hall, "you will step forth, place the Sorting Hat on your head and sit down on the stool, while you wait for it to make its decision." He let the silence linger for a moment, then unfurled the parchment. "Abbott, Hannah."

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Bones, Susan."

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Boot, Terry."

"RAVENCLAW!"

Severus continued through the list, giving those who joined his snakes a small nod of approval before they left and pointedly ignoring the rest of them.

Neville Longbottom looked terrified of the hat and Severus _both_ , practically shivering as he stumbled over himself to the stool. It took quite a while for the Hat to decide and Severus was more than a little astonished to hear it cry out: "GRYFFINDOR!"

"Malfoy, Draco."

His godson paraded forward as if the whole world was his stage. He sent a small smirk Severus's way, but Severus could see the glimmer of fear laying underneath it. The hat had barely even touched his head before it was yelling: "SLYTHERIN!"

Draco was ecstatic, his grin bright enough to light the room. He glanced at Severus and the Potions Master granted him a small nod of approval. Then, the boy strode to his seat with his head held high.

He continued through the names, one at a time. Greeting two more snakes into his house, who both nodded their head to him in respect while they passed.

Until, finally: "Potter, Harry."

Whispers broke out across the hall, hushed and reverent.

" _Potter_ , did he say?"

" _The_ Harry Potter?"

He saw a figure step from the line, head bowed. His black hair was neater than Severus remembered of James Potter. He could see that the boy no longer needed his glasses.

The whispers grew more furious as he passed.

" _That's_ Harry Potter?"

"He doesn't look like--"

"Are you sure? Do you see a scar?"

Severus frowned, scowling across the hall to silence the infuriating gossipers, but then the boy looked up.

Severus froze. All his masks falling and shock slipping in its place before he could think to drag it back.

The boy halted.

Blinking up at Severus as if he were trying to recognize him.

Dear Merlin, he looked...

Harry had his mother's green eyes, lips and nose. But where Severus had expected to see James Potter, he found none.

Sharp cheekbones. That sleek, wispy hair and even the way he _walked_.

The realization hit him like a Killing Curse.

It was impossible. Absolutely absurd. Inconceivable. And yet...

Severus knew. In a moment, peering at the boy's face.

This was not James Potter's child.

_He's mine._

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all!
> 
> Thank you so much for all the lovely comments and kudos. It's been really amazing. Hope you enjoy this chapter, too. More is on the way!


	9. Chapter 9

Harry felt sick.

As if someone had punched him in the stomach, hard enough to make him retch. Time froze and as he stared.

It wasn't like looking in a mirror. It was more as if... he were staring at some missing piece. To a section of a puzzle that hadn't made sense, until it was staring him in the face.

All year, he'd been watching his face shift. His visage change, further and further away from the man he'd seen in the photo. Further away from the man who died to save his life.

And now, staring at this stranger's same hair, same cheekbones, same jaw and same chin...

The whispering in the room grew more furious and wondering and Harry felt a shiver run down his spine.

He swallowed down his fear and stepped forward, keeping his eyes low to keep from looking into this man's astonished face.

He picked up the hat and placed it on his head, taking his seat while his mind whirred.

"Well now," came the voice of the Sorting Hat, clearly in his mind. "All in a tizzy, aren't we? What could be so... oh, well, that is a shock. Didn't think he had it in him. Good for him."

 _Who?_ Harry thought, about to open his mouth and ask when the Hat replied.

"Well, Severus, of course," the Hat murmured, "always held a candle for that Lily. Anyway, on to the matter of your Sorting."

_No, wait, what about--_

"Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. But your mind, now that's sharp as a blade isn't it?"

_Go back, go back, what about my mother?_

"Oh yes, she nearly made it to Ravenclaw too, you know? And you've got a mind as sharp as hers, as sharp as your father's too. Talented, hard-working, but this thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting. More like your father in that regard--"

_My father? Do you mean James Potter or--_

"Oh yes, here it is. Just like Lily, untapped potential. Oceans of it. You could be great, you know? It's all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on your way to greatness, no doubt about that. Yes, yes, I see it now. Better be SLYTHERIN!"

Silence fell over the whispering hall. Painful and uneasy. Harry slowly lifted the hat from his head and set it on the chair, while the hall watched, speechless.

Harry didn't look up as he fled toward the Slytherin table. He sat down beside Draco Malfoy, who was staring back and forth between the Professor and Harry, much like the rest of Slytherin were.

At the front, the Professor continued on reading the student names as if nothing were awry.

"So, uh, Potter," Malfoy cleared his throat, "well done on making it to the ranks of the elite."

Harry turned and smiled awkwardly at the boy. "Elite, huh?"

'Parkinson, Pansy' straightened and lifted her nose. "Of course," she added, flicking her hair. "Slytherin is the house of the cunning, resourceful and _ambitious_. Mark my words, most of us will be running the country in a few years. And, most importantly," she paused and gave him a significant look, "Slytherins look out for their own."

Harry watched as the rest of the first years evaluated him. There was a boy, 'Nott, Theodore', beside Malfoy who looked up briefly from his book to nod once in agreement with Parkinson. 'Greengrass, Daphne' and 'Bullstrode, Millicent' were watching him with a half-bored, half-intrigued looks of people who believed themselves above petty gossip. Two remaining Slytherin's, 'Crabbe, Vincent' and 'Goyle, Gregory' sat further down, throwing chocolate wrappers at each other.

He could see a few of the upper year Slytherin's listening in, watching him out of the corner of their eye.

Harry swallowed, then nodded. "Good to know."

"Turpin, Lisa," was called and Harry looked up briefly to see if the Professor was looking his way. He wasn't, but everyone else had their eyes firmly on Harry.

Including Albus Dumbledore.

The Headmaster was very pointedly keeping his face straight, but something lingered in his eyes. As if all his plans had been upended and tectonic plates were shifting beneath his feet.

"Weasley, Ronald."

Ron was very pale. His eyes kept shooting toward Harry, as if he were trying to process too many things at once. The Hat fell on his head and a second later: "GRYFFINDOR!"

"What a surprise," Greengrass drawled.

Harry ignored them and clapped for the boy. He felt a bit stupid when he got funny looks from the other Slytherin's but deciding it was worth it when Albus Dumbledore sank a little with relief.

Lastly came, 'Zabini, Blaise', who sauntered to the Slytherin table, relishing his due applause with a smirk on his face.

He sat opposite Harry and lifted a brow. "Well, you're going to be in tomorrow's Daily Prophet for sure."

Harry winced and Parkinson elbowed Zabini with a frown. "Have some class."

"Says the _Lady_ who just elbowed me," the boy scoffed and rubbed his side. "What's the point in hiding it? Even if it _isn't_ true, which, come on, what are the chances, the whole of Hogwarts will be terrified to so much as _look_ at you wrong from here on out," he said. "I'd make the most of it, if I were you."

"Terrified?" Harry asked. "Why would they be terrified?"

"Because, Professor Severus Snape," Zabini pointed in the direction of the Professor, who was rolling up the scroll and packing away the Hat and stool, "is renowned and feared throughout Hogwarts, nay, _Britain_ , as a fearsome and ferocious bastard not to be trifled with."

Harry hesitated. "Professor Severus Snape?" Harry repeated aloud.

Zabini nodded.

Severus Snape. SS.

Hope sprung in Harry's chest. He gazed over to where Snape was finally taking his seat at the table, beside the quivering Professor Quirrell.

Harry reached for the lily bracelet around his wrist.

SS had always been cautious not to reveal too many details but he'd left a lot of old textbooks in the flat. It would make sense for him to be a professor.

Albus Dumbledore stood and lifted his arms wide in a dramatic sweeping gesture, with a false smile. "Welcome!" He said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"

Harry stared, resisting the urge to scowl.

It was a transparent effort to cast himself as a harmless old man, but it worked. The rest of the tables cheered and laughed, clapped happily, while the Slytherin's rolled their eyes and sneered.

"Mad," Malfoy said, shaking his head. "Utterly loopy. No wonder this place is going to pot."

Harry bit his lip and turned to see the table filled with dishes. Beef, chicken, pork and lamb. Every type of cooked potato, from roasted, to mashed and boiled.

There were a notable lack of vegetables.

Harry managed to spoon some peas and carrots onto his plate before he grabbed a lamb chop.

He missed Jiffy already.

"So," Malfoy leaned toward him with his voice low, "may I ask what that was earlier with Weasley?"

Harry didn't look up. "Best not to," he said. "Long story."

Malfoy hummed, then moved on to the subject of Quidditch and how awful it was that he wasn't allowed to bring a broom to school.

" _And_ father didn't buy me the new Nimbus 2000," Malfoy whined, sounding so alarmingly like Dudley that Harry worried he was going to break Harry's nose or pile his plate high with meat. "He said there was 'no point', because I was going to be at school!"

"Well, he is right," Harry said. "The Nimbus 2001 is going to be out in summer. It makes more sense to wait until your next year, that way you get the best broom you can for the Quidditch tryouts."

Malfoy straightened at that, eyes alight. "Oh, _of course_! I should have thought--so _that's_ why." He seemed to sink with relief. "He must be planning it as a surprise."

Harry shrugged. "Maybe," he said, hoping he hadn't just set the boy up for disappointment. "Anyway, I'm just excited to start classes. Especially Potions. That sounds fascinating."

Suddenly, half the table spluttered and coughed with shock and laughter.

Zabini was howling. Clutching his side as if he would burst.

"What?" Harry frowned. "What is it?"

Harry slowly reddened as Malfoy quietly explained that Potions was Snape's subject, then he decided to quietly eat his dinner for a little while.

After dessert arrived and Harry spooned some rice pudding and strawberries into his bowl, he risked a glance up at the High Table, where his eyes met Professor Snape's.

Harry hesitated. Swallowing hard as the man stared back at him. His gaze was... muted. Not hard or unfeeling, just... quiet. As if he were trying very hard to keep his emotions at bay.

Then, Professor Quirrell turned his head, looking away from Harry and a pain shot suddenly through Harry's scar.

He closed his eyes and hissed, clutching at his forehead.

"What is it?" Malfoy asked, leaning forward.

"N-nothing," Harry winced.

Malfoy looked unconvinced, but didn't say anything.

Dumbledore stood as the plates emptied and cleared his throat. "Just a few more words now we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.

"First-years should note that the forest in the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well," he shot a look at the Gryffindor table at that seemed more encouraging than reproachful. "I have also been asked by Mr Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.

"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch.

"And, finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

Harry felt an itch sizzle through his spine.

This all felt a little too much like someone goading a bunch of students into solving a mystery.

It reminded him of SS's letter about the old man's manipulative tendencies. _'The Headmaster intends, it would seem, to move you about like a pawn, set you on a path of his choosing, whatever that may be_. _'_

This stank of a trap. Of one of the old man's games.

Harry clenched his teeth and tried to occlude.

#

Severus just barely managed to keep his mind occluded. To stop his mind whirring in an interminable loop.

He watched, not thinking, not theorizing, not trying to work out the _how_ and the _when_ and the _why_.

Severus just watched while Pott... while Harry sat with his snakes, smirking the way his own lips did, his eyebrow lifting the Severus's always had. When their eyes met across the Hall again, an ache hollowed out Severus's chest.

This was what a child with Lily would have looked like. Whether it was true now or not.

This... Harry... was what Severus had once dreamed he would have with Lily. A son with her eyes and her kindness, that he called his own.

He just barely snapped out of his daydreams when the boy seemed to collapse with pain, his hand reaching for his scar, just as Quirrell turned to speak.

It took all Severus's control not to dash across the Hall and check on the boy.

"S-s-such a unu-u-usual likeness, i-i-isn't it?" The Professor asked, eyes glimmering with some kind of swallowed emotion. Something harder and sharper than mere curiosity.

Severus did not dare meet the man's eye like this. Not when his occlumency shields were ready to topple like dominos.

"Most British Wizards are all related one way or another. I'm sure it's just an _unfortunate_ coincidence," Severus said, turning away and spotting Dumbledore's cautious glance.

Severus felt the prickle of Legimency and looked away.

 _Occlude, for Merlin's sake,_ he chastised himself, _you've done better than this under torture._

The rest of the night felt unbearable. Eyes watching him. Watching Harry. Calculating and wondering. Speculating.

He'd not planned for this. How could he have? Severus had expected for he and Harry to appear utterly separate. For the boy to live his life in Gryffindor, sending him notes and appearing to live up to Albus's expectations as the Chosen One, while the two of them plotted in secret to overrule the old man's schemes.

This destroyed that plan.

There was no way that he could pretend to loathe the boy when one look at Harry utterly decimated him, bulldozed his Occlumency barriers and his carefully constructed masks. When all the world could tell from a single glance that they were somehow connected.

Whether it be by blood, or something else.

It wouldn't take much for students to work out that he and Lily were in the same year. Slightly longer to seek out gossip from their parents and work out that Severus had been friends with her in his younger years.

How long before the papers got wind of it, he wondered. How long before there were headlines tarnishing Lily's virtue. Dragging her name through the mud.

How was this even possible?

His mind kept returning to that thought, over and over, reeling with it. _How is this possible?_

Severus listened only enough to the Headmaster's announcements to realize how blatantly the man had laid out a trail of breadcrumbs to the Philosopher's Stone. Fresh fury rose suddenly before it was painstakingly quashed.

He spotted Gemma Farley walk over to the first year's, welcoming them to their ranks and escorting them from the Hall to the Dungeons.

"Severus," Albus's voice was low as he passed, "a moment in my office."

Severus nodded once.

They were silent the entire walk. With nothing but the echoes of their footsteps and watchful eyes of the gargoyle.

Severus used the time to clear his mind. To renew his Occlumency barriers and sweep away everything he needed to be hidden.

The staircase lifted them to the Headmaster's office and the old man said nothing as he stepped into the center of the room. He waved his wand and the door slammed shut with a force that echoed through the chamber.

The silence felt deadly, a toxin seeping into the air.

"Tell me you haven't been lying to me all this time," the man said. Breath and whispers, like the eye of a storm. "TELL ME!"

Severus swallowed and exhaled.

"I never--" he paused, his voice choked on the words. "I have no memory of how this could..." He closed his eyes. "It's impossible. When Harry was conceived, I was still loyal to the Dark Lord. I hadn't so much as spoken to Lily for at least a year. I don't know how it could possibly..."

He let the silence linger. Waited.

"Leave," the Headmaster said.

Severus turned and swept away. Fled. Breath burning in his lungs. Running. He walked without thinking about where he was going. Without questioning the wisdom of it.

He stopped outside the door and knocked twice.

Minerva said nothing when she saw him there, her eyes glittered with pity.

"I would like to cash in that pledge of undying friendship, if you don't mind," he croaked. "And severely deplete your liquor reserves."

Minerva nodded. "I'll fetch the Scotch."

Severus closed the door slowly behind him, tottering uneasily toward the chair.

He heard her pour two glasses as he stared out the window to the dark grounds beyond. The utter miserable black of the Forbidden Forest.

Minerva held out the glass and he grasped it tight. Then he downed the liquid and held it up for another.

She handed him the bottle.

" _'Steel yourself'_ ," he sighed, then lifted a brow at the woman. "Really, Minerva? A little more forewarning would have been appreciated."

Her lips twitched as she settled into her seat. "What would you have me say?" She asked. " _'By the way, you're a father'._ Or perhaps, _'Congratulations, it_ _’_ _s a boy'_."

Severus couldn't be bothered to glare at her. He'd drained another glass before she dared speak again.

"Is he yours?"

Severus barked a laugh. " _Salazar_ , I haven't a clue." He shut his eyes and breathed. "If I'd never laid eyes on the boy I'd laugh at the mere _suggestion_. But seeing him for myself..."

He swallowed a bitter taste and poured another.

Perhaps this was the spell that had worn off a year ago.

The Blood Magic that had been cast at his birth... to change Harry's visage, perhaps. To cover up Harry's likeness to him. Merlin only knew why it had happened like this. Severus was no expert in the matter of Blood Magic. It was an imprecise and dangerous Magical Art for even the master practitioner.

"You and Lily..."

"Never," he said, whispering it and shutting his eyes. "I was not in a frame of mind to--" he felt sick at the thought. "She'd have never spoken to me at the time. I was so _warped_ by the desperation to please the Dark Lord, I don't know what I would have done if I'd seen her."

"I do," Minerva whispered, sitting back, "you'd never have harmed a hair on Lily's head. We both know that."

Severus shuddered an exhale, trying and almost failing to shove down the urge to cry. He close his eyes and occluded.

"Merlin, this--" he hissed, "if it's true, my cover is blown. I can never go back. All those years of Albus plotting, for nothing. If the Dark Lord ever so much as _suspected_ I'd--" Severus grit his teeth.

Minerva was silent for a moment, then leaned forward. "Maybe it's for the best. I know how... wrapped up in his schemes Albus can get. Today, when I thought of how it could have lost us Harry..." She chewed her lip, then lifted her own glass and swallowed a mouthful. "After James and Lily died, Albus insisted on sending Harry to his Muggle relatives. The Dursleys," she shuddered. "They're awful people, Severus. The worst. I spoke to Hagrid today. They lied to the boy, told him his parents were _drunks_ who died in a _car accident_. They tried to 'stamp' the magic out of him. I've brought my fears to Albus before. He refuses to listen. But, if you're really..." She looked up at him. "You'd have a right to raise him. Whatever Albus said on the subject."

What she was saying was... defiance. Pure disobedience. They both knew that. And yet she still said it. Still sat there suggesting he overrule Albus, destroy the old man's carefully laid plots and protect the boy himself.

It was times like this he couldn't help but respect the woman. She had her faults but, when she decided what was right, she followed that through to the end.

"He'd just find another way," Severus said. "And I daren't risk incurring his wrath, especially if I have become... _dispensable_. But, I will see what _is_ possible."

Minerva's lips twitched. "Ever the Slytherin."

Severus smirked. "Always."

#

Harry wrote to him that night, when the rest of the Slytherin's had gone to bed and he could hear the soft sound of their breaths. Harry waited until it was quiet, then slipped off to the bathroom, checking every stall for students.

He set down his note on the floor. One line. Just a question. _'SS, is it you?'_

He hoped that would be explanation enough.

If SS really was Snape, it would be.

"Jiffy?" Harry whispered. There was a pause, then a soft pop as the letter disappeared. Harry smiled. "Thank you," he whispered, then went back to bed.

He didn't sleep well that night, if he slept at all, and the next day he felt the strain of it. They had History of Magic, which he'd been looking forward to, but quickly discovered was going to be useless. For one thing, he'd already memorized the first year curriculum. For another... he fell asleep after five minutes.

Malfoy elbowed him awake at the end of lesson while Zabini snickered.

"What, what? What happened?" Harry murmured, bolting upright.

"Class ended," Malfoy drawled, rolling his eyes.

"It's eerie seeing you sleep, you know," Zabini added, smirking. "So _angelic_ , but with Snape's face. I don't think that man's let his guard down in over twenty years."

"I'm not Snape," Harry murmured.

Zabini lifted a brow, but said nothing.

The students were cautious around him all day. The other houses watched him, staring openly, either whispering about the 'Boy-Who-Lived' or about the new rumors about him and Snape.

The Slytherins were quiet and respectful, and the upper years treated him with extra care and attention. One Prefect spotted him being trailed by Hufflepuffs and deducted points from them, threatening to tell Professor Snape and then, once they'd fled, coming up to Harry and telling him: _"Let me know if anyone gives you grief, I'll take care of it."_

Harry didn't know what to make of it. He didn't get the impression that the Slytherin's were scared of Snape. At least, not the same way that the other Houses were.

When he sat down to lunch that afternoon and a fourth year asked him about his classes, then offered to tutor him in Transfiguration, Harry nervously drew Malfoy and Zabini aside.

"Why do the Slytherin's keep talking to me like I'm..." Harry hesitated. "They keep offering... favors."

"Well of course they are," Zabini scoffed. "What else did you think was going to happen? They already knew you were a powerful wizard, obviously, but now there's rumors flying about that you're the possible son of their _Head of House_."

Harry winced. "So it's because they think I'm going to tell on them?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Well, maybe a little but it's not just that. Snape, well, he's respected. Not just as a Master Potioneer or the _best_ Slytherin Head of House since Salazar roamed these halls. He also, well..." Malfoy winced, then licked his lips, "he has certain _talents_ that made him renowned during the last war."

"Talents?" Harry repeated, frowning. "What talents?"

Zabini and Malfoy exchanged a 'Look' and Harry got a bad feeling.

He sucked in a breath.

"You mean... Dark Arts, don't you?"

Malfoy pursed his lips, then nodded. "He... _invented_ a lot of spells that wound up being used by... you know," the boy chewed his lip, "look, you should really be talking to him about this."

"I've never even spoken to the man," Harry said, which was true, even if he was SS. "Was he..." Harry choked, a dread curling around his spine, "did he join Him?"

Malfoy's expression dipped. His eyes soft with regret. "Yes, but--"

Harry felt like he'd been punched in the gut, he whirled away, storming down the hall.

"Harry!"

He didn't listen. Didn't stop.

His eyes burned and his lip trembled.

He felt sick. Bursting with a horrible whirl of a thousand emotions all at once.

He wanted to run. To flee as far as he could and hide from all this. From the looks and the whispers and...

Harry turned a corner and slammed into someone. Nearly knocking himself to the ground. He gripped his head and looked up.

Black, obsidian eyes. And a pale, familiar face.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the wonderful messages! It's been so great to hear people's thoughts and to see how many people are enjoying this fic. It's my first time posting my work online and I'm so glad that I decided to!
> 
> Don't worry, the next chapter will be up this week. It's going to be a big one :)


	10. Chapter 10

Severus had vowed to himself to steer clear of the boy, until Albus had decided upon how to proceed. Until he knew where the Headmaster's plotting would take him.

It was useless to make contact until he knew how much he could and couldn't tell Harry, what levels of secrecy they would need to implement to keep the old man appeased.

His former plans had been upturned completely. They were under watch, now. Scrutinized by the whole world, and by Albus most of all.

The old man would be on his guard. On the attack. He'd be scheming and so Severus needed to wait, watch, find his bearings and get back in the old man's graces. Rebuild his trust.

He couldn't allow himself to be swayed by sentiment.

But a moment glancing into those green eyes, wracked with pain and grief, and Severus's resolve crumbled.

Draco came bolting around the corner with Zabini in tow, his face flush and his eyes widened with alarm when he spotted Severus there.

"Unc--uh, Professor Snape," his godson wheezed, then swallowed.

"Do you mind illuminating me as to why you were all rushing through the halls as if being chased by a troll?"

Draco swallowed, a guilty look directed Harry's way.

"It's nothing," Harry muttered, curling his arms around himself, tears just barely held back.

Severus just looked at his godson and lifted a brow. He held his gaze while Draco agonized. The boy made an admirable effort to refrain from speaking a word. Seconds ticking slowly while Severus stared.

"W-we were t-talking about, uh," Draco grimaced and looked down, "the war."

If the Dark Lord or Albus Dumbledore had peered into Severus's mind just then, it would have caved and split open. Every secret laid bare for all to see.

A fist curled around his heart and squeezed. Tight as a vice.

"Mr Malfoy, Mr Zabini, please return to your lunch."

Draco seemed conflicted before he stepped away. Footsteps echoed in the hallway while the students meandered about, chattering in the Great Hall.

Severus's mouth tasted like bile.

"Follow me," he said quietly.

The boy did, though he hesitated.

They walked down the staircase to the dungeons, to the door of Severus's office. There was a single student that passed as they reached it. A Slytherin fifth year, Georgia Peters. Harry quickly ducked his head away as the girl approached.

They were silent a moment after she'd left.

Severus placed his hand on the door and the wards granted them entrance. Harry watched from the corner of his eye. The office was cold as they walked inside, but Harry flinched when Severus's wand snapped toward the hearth and lit the fire.

Already the boy was afraid of him.

Severus drew over his chair from behind the desk, and set down a safe distance from the boy's, slightly askew, so that Harry wasn't forced to look at him. So it didn't feel like an interrogation.

"Please, sit."

Harry walked slowly, hands clasped together in a white-knuckle grip and his head dipped to the floor. He sat slightly forward, hunched like he was hoping to curl up and will the world away.

Severus settled in the other chair and waited.

For the first time in a long time, words failed him.

What could he possibly say?

What would ever make this right?

There was too much and too little to say all at once. Too many regrets and betrayals.

Too many lies.

And Albus... the Headmaster was still playing his games. Would still expect Severus to obey his orders. To stay silent on everything other than what the old man deemed necessary for Harry to know.

Dolling out truths like lemon drops. Like treats for good behavior and bribes for subservience.

Not as something the boy had a right to.

"Are you--" the boy choked, his eyes sealed tightly shut, "are we...?"

The words hung in the air. The unfinished question.

_Are you my father?_

Severus could deny it. He was sure that was what Albus would order him to do. Keep his distance from the boy, push and antagonize him, play the game the way the old man wanted it to be played.

A pawn to play decoy and be mowed down by the enemy.

But he'd grown tired of games.

Tired of lies.

"I don't know," Severus admitted.

The boy finally looked up at that, eyes glittering with confusion. "Then why did you help--? He stopped abruptly, bit his lip.

He'd already figured it out, then? Severus supposed that he could have come up with a better nom de plume than his own initials, if he'd truly wished to stay anonymous.

He supposed it made little sense to pretend, now.

It was the least of Severus's secrets.

"How are your mental shields?"

The boy's mouth parted in a small gasp and some mixture of pain and hope sprung in those big green eyes of his.

"They're... They're okay sir, I think."

Severus nodded once. "Before we continue, I would like to request that you let me test them," he spread his hands on his knees. "I realize that it is a lot to ask, especially given what you've heard, but I must be certain you are able to evade intrusion from... certain parties."

Harry was utterly silent. Not even seeming to breathe.

"Dumbledore?" He said finally.

Severus did not nod or speak a word, but he gave the boy a look that spoke volumes.

The boy inhaled, swallowed hard. "O-okay," he croaked. Then closed his eyes and calmed himself, his body language shifting as his mind cleared and the mental barriers slid in place. His shoulders softened and his hands unclenched.

Then he opened his eyes and met Severus, and nodded.

Severus did not fully delve into the boy's mind, as the Dark Lord had done so many times to him.

The full force of Legimency was painful and traumatic. Not something that he'd force the boy to endure unless he had to. If, or when, the Dark Lord returned.

Instead, he did what Albus would do, he crept. Silent and wandless, with the force of a whisper, seeking out surface thoughts and dominant memories.

He crept quietly and silently, probing a little for weakness and finding none.

He smiled when he pulled back. "Well done."

A soft and glittering expression lit in Harry's eyes, yearning and unsteady. Almost painfully happy at the small praise. And wracked with guilt because of it.

Harry looked down, hands clutched tight.

Severus closed his eyes and breathed. "We have a lot to cover and not enough time," he said. "If you want to, I can arrange a way for us to meet, without garnering... unwanted attention. I will answer your questions as best I can." He paused. "As honestly as I can. Though... be warned, it will not be easy to hear. Do you still wish to...?"

Harry chewed his lip, his hands gripping and releasing, over and over again. A hideous pain spread over his face as he nodded.

Severus could have cut out his own heart, at that moment, and the pain would have been tolerable compared to this.

To see the boy overwhelmed with self-loathing at agreeing to speak with Severus again. Of agreeing to trust him at all, when he'd just discovered what Severus was.

Who Severus had sided with.

And whom he'd cost Harry.

When the boy found out the truth...

He'd hate him. Justifiably so.

But he deserved the truth. He deserved to be protected. And Severus would protect him to his dying breath.

Whether the boy wanted his protection or not.

#

Harry Occluded for the rest of his school day, not daring to let his shields down, keeping his mind clear to keep from falling apart.

He immersed himself in his work. In taking meticulous notes during Professor McGonagall's grand speech about the dangers of Transfiguration. He noted down every detail of her instructions on how to do the task ahead, transfiguring the match into a needle. He already learned the Transfiguration theory by heart, but he wrote it all anyway, diligent and precise, underlining key words and noting down McGonagall's examples.

He focused on his work. Kept his mind preoccupied. Otherwise, he knew he'd fall apart.

There were only forty students to a year, so most classes combined all the Houses, with Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw acting as a buffer between Slytherin and Gryffindor. And there was very something tense about sitting in a room with the lions. And he didn't think it was just because of the usual House rivalry.

Harry had spotted the nasty looks the Gryffindors sent him in the halls and during classes. But he'd noticed that Ron was pointedly not looking at him at all.

Malfoy sat beside him grumbling under his breath, sneaking peeks at Harry's notes when he couldn't figure out where he was going wrong.

McGonagall walked through the desks, peering at work while the students struggled to get their matches to turn into needles.

She stopped at the Gryffindor section, by Hermione. "Spectacular work, Miss Granger," she said, picking up the girl's needle while the student blushed and beamed smugly. "You made fast work of that indeed. I don't recall a student managing the task that quickly in couple of years."

Malfoy straightened and gnashed his teeth at that, like he was personally offended by the thought.

His hand shot up. "Professor," he drawled, while Harry urgently shook his head at his seat-mate. "Potter transfigured his match ten minutes ago."

The teacher straightened and her brows shot up. "Did he?" She said, weaving through the desks.

Malfoy smirked and nodded while Harry gave him a dirty look.

Behind them, Hermione suddenly stood up in her seat, expression hard as stone as she stood on her toes to see.

McGonagall stopped at the desk and stared down at the match. "Mr Malfoy, that is not a needle. I would prefer you didn't--"

"He turned it _back_ , Professor," Malfoy drawled, folding his arms and shooting Hermione a wicked smirk.

The Professor froze. "Untransfiguration?" She frowned. "I highly doubt that."

"He did!" Malfoy scowled, then turned to Harry. "Show her!"

Harry's cheeks pinked, he cleared his throat and glanced up at the Professor for permission. She folded her arms and nodded once, seeming unimpressed.

Harry gripped his wand and reminded himself of all the variables and calculations, holding the image in his mind and manipulating his magic through his wand arm. Then he flicked his wand, said the incantation and watched the needle transform.

The Professor unfolded her arms. Then reached forward to inspect it. There was a long pause as she analyzed it.

"That," she said, "is flawless work, Mr Potter."

Harry's cheeks heated under the gaze of the students. On the other side of the room, Hermione Granger made a strangled noise of utter dismay.

"Now, if you don't mind a second demonstration?" She said, placing the needle back on the table.

Harry licked his lips and focused his mind. Then flicked his wand and it untransfigured.

McGonagall let off a small gasp and a smile itched across her lips. She reached down and inspected it. "Incredible, Mr Potter. A full reversal, too. Not just a repair of an incomplete transfiguration. That's rather more complex. I wasn't planning to cover that until January. You've been reading ahead?"

Harry nodded and scratched the back of his neck. "Um, yeah," he said. " _Magical Theory_ by Waffling helped a lot. You know, for figuring out how the variables are effected and how to focus your magic."

"Well," McGonagall breathed, seeming astonished, "the only way I usually get students to read that text is by assigning it as homework."

Harry shrugged. "It was a bit difficult to understand at first, half his sentences need a dictionary to figure out, or maybe a code-breaker."

The Professor barked a laugh. "Oh yes. I have it on good authority that his copy editor _quit_ half-way through the revisions because he was impossible to work with. But, his work is by far the most comprehensive on the matter of Magical Theory. So many authors try to simplify the subject and pander to the Ministry. In transfiguration, you cannot excel unless you _understand_ the variables and calculations involved. It's a science, not an art." She set the match down. "Truly remarkable work, Mr Potter. I expect you to aim toward top marks in this class."

"Uh, yes, Professor. I'll do my best."

She nodded in approval. "Ten points to Slytherin."

Hermione squawked like she'd been stabbed in the back, standing up with her mouth wide.

"Oh, of course," McGonagall said. "Five points to Gryffindor, Miss Granger."

Hermione did not looked appeased by this offering. In fact, she looked furious. McGonagall went back to weaving through the aisles while Hermione collapsed back in her chair, folded her arms and glared at Harry like she was thinking of murdering him for the top spot in class.

Malfoy snickered, so smug he practically _oozed_. He smiled right at Hermione as if goading her.

"Will you stop that," Harry murmured. "She hates me enough."

"No," Malfoy snickered, "I think that if we keep bruising her pride and poking her _just right_ , she'll snap and fire an illegal hex at us."

"And you _want_ that to happen?" Harry lifted a brow.

"Perhaps," Malfoy drawled. "Dumbledore would get in trouble for it and father would have her expelled in a heartbeat."

Harry glared at him. "She's annoying but she's not worthy being expelled."

Malfoy scowled at him. "They think _we_ should be."

"What? No they don't."

"They do," Malfoy huffed, then leaned forward. "Trust me on this. They'd happily stick the lot of us in a cell in Azkaban to rot. We're _Slytherins_ ," Malfoy said. "To the rest of the school... no, the rest of the _country_ , that's interchangeable with evil and inhuman."

Harry opened his mouth to argue, but the words never came.

He remembered the way Dumbledore had looked when Harry had been Sorted. The way the whole Hall silenced, stunned and terrified.

Ron's mother talked about him being mobbed by _"Dark Wizards"_ on the train. That's what she'd said: Dark Wizards. And she hadn't been talking about fully grown adults, or she would have _insisted_ an adult go with him.

She'd been talking about students.

About Slytherin's.

As if they were already lost causes. Beyond redemption Even when they'd barely learned a single spell.

Harry couldn't help but wonder about Snape. About what it would be like to be surrounded by people who thought you were already evil. To be surrounded with people telling you that you or your family deserved to rot in prison.

A " _thirst to prove yourself"_ , the hat had told him. _"Just like your father."_

Had the Hat been talking about James, or Snape?

#

Severus left dinner that night the same time as always. He did not look Harry's way, even when he could feel the boy's eyes on him. Even when Minerva boasted, ostensibly to the other staff but loud enough for him to hear, about the boy's spectacular prowess in Transfiguration.

He swept through the Great Hall and down the corridors as if to go back to his office, then he disillusioned himself and climbed the stairs.

There was a staircase, on the fifth floor, which appeared to meet a wall. Severus, however, had walked these halls enough to know to never assume a wall was just a wall.

He checked, once again, that the coast was clear with a quick spell to reveal prying eyes, then tapped the fifth brick down, second across, four times.

The entrance yawned wide and revealed a small corridor with two classrooms.

The classrooms had likely been disused for centuries, but there was still the odd book or candle scattered about in a layer of dust, from some forgotten student who'd stumbled upon the perfect hiding spot.

Severus stepped toward the second room and began to ward it to the hilt. Protective and privacy enchantments with enough power to ensure nobody would find them there. Then he began to light the candles in their sconces and transfigure the furniture into something that looked stable and mildly welcoming.

He had only just barely made the place look less like a perfect spot to lure the poor boy to his demise when his wards alerted him.

Harry was standing straight, with his wand clutched in his hand, placed in such a way that he could flee to safety if need be, and Severus was profoundly proud of him for it. If there was one instinct he wished the boy to have inherited, whether it be from Severus or otherwise, it was that of self-preservation.

Severus alerted the wards to permit him then placed his wand on the floor beside one of the chairs and stepped away from it, to the other. A gesture of trust. Though they likely both knew Severus wouldn't need a wand if he truly meant the boy harm.

Harry stood in the doorway for a few seconds, hesitant to step forward, then crossed the threshold, but did not close the door.

He sat down with his wand still clutched in his hand, fingers tightening and releasing around it. His emerald green eyes lingering on the floor.

Severus thought of speaking first, of taking charge and explaining what he wanted to explain first. But somehow he knew Harry would see through it. Would see the little manipulations, the effort to control the narrative.

And Severus didn't want to control. Not when he looked at the boy and saw... whether it were true or not... his own blood.

The boy deserved the truth.

The brutal truth.

The truth of what Severus really was.

He deserved it before he grew too attached to the idea of Severus being... something more than he was. So he didn't believe him to be infallible.

"You were a Death Eater."

They were whispered, but the words echoed between them like verdict.

"Yes," Severus rasped. "I was."

Harry didn't look up. His head just dipped like he was draining of all the hope he had left.

"I regret it," Severus said. "More than anything."

The boy pursed his lips. Considering something. "Why did you do it?"

He clutched his hand into a fist. He didn't know he could feel agony like this again. Not after Lily. He thought he'd been numbed to it.

"I..." Severus swallowed. "I was weak."

"No," Harry scowled, tone hard. "Don't give me the short answer." He met Severus's eye and held it, scowling. "You said you'd give me the truth. So tell the truth. Make me understand. Explain. Explain everything. I... I want to know _why_."

Severus tasted bile. The thought of going through all that. Unpicking his weakness in excruciating detail...

But the boy was right. He'd promised the truth.

And if that was what Harry truly wanted.

Severus looked down and nodded. Then took a shuddering breath.

"I... wasn't much admired at school," Severus croaked, releasing his clenched hands and closing his eyes, "your mother was my only friend. I was a half-blood Slytherin surrounded by hard-line purists. I was... an outsider. Snubbed or ignored, ahead of most my classmates and disregarded by the teachers. I longed for... admiration. Acceptance.

"So when the upper year Slytherin's started to take an interest in my abilities, my skill for potions and creating new spells, it felt..." Severus paused, "exhilarating. The praise and approval. I started listening to their bile, desperate to fit in. Started providing them with potions and teaching them the spells I created. The deeper I got, the more I started to... to truly believe their talk of pure-blood supremacy. I started to practice darker spells... the darkest.

"The thing you need to understand about the Dark Arts is... they can be almost addictive. There is a high to using them, a kind of euphoria. And when you immerse yourself in it, you start to feel invincible. The power is intoxicating and you feel like a god. But it's a false ecstasy. And it eats at your soul. Hollows you out like a rotted tree. Strips you of your humanity.

"The first time they took me to see the Dark Lord... he took me aside to speak to me personally. To ask me about my studies and what I was going to do when I left Hogwarts. He was charming and praising. Honeyed words of how great I could be. Slowly, he began tempting me in. An offer to fund my Potions Mastery, paying me for my work. They were just healing droughts and little tinctures here and there, but I was from little means and I wanted the money. So my greed overcame whatever was left of my morals, and soon enough I convinced myself it was a great _honor_ to be _chosen_ to work for such a powerful man, in spite of my so-called 'unfortunate' blood status.

"It was like... free-falling. I'd long since pushed your mother away by then. I... betrayed her friendship, deplorably, and I felt her loss like a limb. But then these people were calling me talented, offering me praise and welcoming me at their sides. And one small favor became another, until they weren't small favors at all, but duties and I wasn't just an outsider, discarding my conscience for easy money, but a servant and a loyal devotee. And all I could think about was gaining the adulation of my Lord and climbing the ranks to his inner circle, to hear that honeyed praise once more and be told I was worthy."

Severus stopped.

He'd never said this aloud before.

Never unburdened himself this way.

And he wondered at the wisdom of it, but the boy had asked for the truth. He deserved to know what kind of man Severus was before he grew attached to the idea of... of whatever Severus could be for him.

There was a difference between passing notes, working as allies, keeping the boy safe, a difference between that and... becoming family.

Severus exhaled.

"D-did you..." Harry's voice was soft but choked, "did you kill people?"

Severus desperately tried to Occlude, but it felt like walking on glass. His chest ached as if he'd been run through and gutted.

"Yes," Severus whispered.

Every second of silence was torture. One more twist of the screw.

 _Please don't ask it,_ he willed to the boy. Severus had vowed to be honest, but he longed for the boy to leave some questions unasked.

"Who?"

Severus hissed out a breath and sucked it back in.

There was silence, for a moment, as Severus warred with himself, until finally...

"A Muggle man, during a raid. Two wizards and one witch, in two separate duels. Two... mercy killings," Severus whispered, "and... my father."

_And your father._

_And your mother._

_And nearly you._

Surely now he would leave. Decide that Severus was beyond redemption and run. Any minute now Severus would hear him flee, sickened by him.

"Did he hurt you?"

Severus's eyes snapped open.

Green orbs shined back at him. Wet with tears and grief. A sorrow there, and pity, but no real hatred.

No revulsion.

"Wh-what?"

"Did your father hurt you?" Harry asked again. "Was he... was he abusive."

He whispered it.

Severus pressed his lips together, his eyes aching and he nodded.

Harry watched him, silent. A quiet understanding on his face. As if he'd already figured out what horrible circumstance would lead to the death of Tobias Snape. What kind of desperation would lead Severus there.

Then, Harry nodded, once, and his gaze fell to the floor. "Th-the duels?"

"During the later raids," Severus whispered. "After I'd been initiated. I tended to avoid killing if I could. But those three had no intention of letting me go while they still lived. They'd no intention of letting a Death Eater escape while they still drew breath. They fought valiantly, and... fearlessly. They died with honor," Snape swallowed. "It's more than I could ever say about myself."

Harry swallowed and pursed his lips. "Tell me about the Muggle man," he said. "About the raid."

Severus closed his eyes again, exhaled. "I... I'm not sure if I should--"

"Please," Harry said, quiet but firm. "I want... I need to know..."

Severus knew what he wanted. What this conversation was leading to. Why the boy would want to know the worst of his sins.

_I need to know what kind of person you are._

Whether the boy should trust Severus or not.

Severus swallowed a bitter taste and continued.

"In 1979, the Dark Lord's raids reached their peak. He cast a taboo, a spell that reveals the location of a speaker when they utter a particular word. In this case, he placed it on his name." Severus clenched his hand. "He used it as a means to sow terror. To instill a fear in him that went beyond the fear of a mortal man, but the fear one feels for a vengeful god. People would utter his name and cabal of Death Eaters would appear, to destroy all they saw.

"I was held back from the raids, at first. I insisted that I was ready, but the Dark Lord... I think he feared that if I saw the true face of his campaign too early, my loyalties could sway. It's one thing to convince yourself that those people were... animals, not worthy of sympathy. It is another to witness..." Severus sucked in a breath, "I was 'trained'. Whenever I was not brewing potions, I was ordered to practice the Dark Arts. To study the most vicious spells, to practice on animals and rodents. But it was not training. It was a means to demolish what little remained of my kindness. To intoxicate me with dark power until I'd become a true monster.

"I killed the Muggle man during my first raid. October. The night was... a blur of mayhem and chaos. What I remember of the night is tinged with panic, confusion and dark magic, but I remember hearing a cry of pain and stumbling to find its source. I remember going inside a house to find..." Severus swallowed down bile and clenched his hands together, "to find Death Eater named Bellatrix, having murdered a girl with a spell of my own making. Sectumsempra. A vile spell." He hung his head, raised his shaking hands to his face. "I felt so sickened by the sight, by what had happened because of my pathetic quest to prove myself, that I fled to the lavatory to retch and when I tore the door open, I found him..." Severus grit his teeth, "her _father_. _Cowering_. Hiding while his daughter _bled to death_. And I felt a fury that I've... I've never felt before or since."

Harry's voice was raw. Like his throat had been lacerated. "You k-killed him?"

"I hurt him first," Severus whispered, "then, I cast Sectumsempra."

The silence ached. Like a festering wound. The boy's breaths echoed through the room, heavy and hissed.

"Did you stay," the boy rasped, "after that, did you stay with... with _him_? The Dark Lord."

"I did."

"Wh-why?" Harry whispered. "Why would you, after..."

"Because I was a coward," Severus whispered, "I thought about it. I pondered the wisdom of running, of fleeing for safety, but I felt trapped. The Dark Lord was so powerful, so much more than I. He made his rise to power seem... inevitable. All hope of a resurgence of the Light felt like a lost cause. And even though I suspected what he was... I still respected him. Still desperately wanted to gain his favor, his praise. I even entertained the idea that, if I could only gain in his ranks, I could stop the others from hurting women and children. So I immersed myself in my work and occluded any traitorous thoughts to the very depths of my mind. _Cowered_ , like that vile Muggle had. And set my mind to being a loyal servant, and... I didn't accept the truth until it was too late. Until I'd... done something unforgivable."

Harry inhaled. His breath catching and holding for a long time.

"Tell me," Harry said.

The Headmaster would have crucified him right there for so much as considering telling the boy. He'd hide the truth, no doubt, until the very last moment. The way he always did.

He'd claim it was too much for a young boy to endure. The weight of it.

And perhaps it was.

"I would not consider placing this burden on you," Severus said, "if I didn't suspect that the Headmaster will make me take an Unbreakable Vow of silence, and hide it from you until he decides it necessary for you to hear. He'd believe you too young to hear this and... I am tempted to agree with him."

There was a pause. "The Headmaster left me with people who nearly killed me. He doesn't get to decide what I can and cannot do," there was a pause, "and neither do you."

Severus couldn't help but smirk with pride at that. The confidence in his voice reminded Severus so much of Lily. He buried it and opened his eyes, risking a look at the boy.

Harry appeared... determined. As if he were steeling himself for the betrayal to come. Occluding to keep from falling apart.

Resolute.

And it was eerie to see him like that. It was an expression Severus had seen so many times in the mirror.

Wounded, but resolved.

Severus swallowed and pursed his lips. "Dumbledore was interviewing a woman for a Divination post at the Hog's Head in Hogsmeade town and... she had a prophecy."

The boy's eyes widened. His mouth opened slightly as a realization dawned. "A prophecy?" He said. "About... me?"

Severus nodded. "About you," he replied, "and about the Dark Lord." Severus swallowed down the last of his pain and continued. " _'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies...'_ That is all I heard, before I was discovered." Severus felt his heart tear tear open as a comprehension fell across Harry's face.

"You..." Harry choked, "you told him."

Severus nodded.

"Th-that's why he came," Harry rasped, "he wasn't after my parents... he was after me."

"He..." Severus looked away. "He grew obsessive. Utterly tormented by desire to quash the last hope of his defeat. It was months before you were born and it wasn't until then that I realized the true gravity of my mistake. He was _convinced_ it was you. Certain of it. And Lily..." Severus closed his eyes. "I pleaded for your lives. Asked that he found another way. He refused to spare you, but he agreed to spare your mother. But I didn't believe him. I couldn't trust his word. So... I went to Dumbledore."

"You... did?"

Severus finally felt the tears fall. "I urged him to hide Lily, to hide you all..." He raised a hand to his eyes. "He agreed, but... he insisted that I remain in the Dark Lord's service. I became a spy. But..." Severus dug his nails into his knee, "it was all for nothing. I couldn't... undo what I had done. And your mother... she died because of me. They both did and no number of apologies can take that back. No amount of suffering can ever equal what..."

Severus didn't dare look up. But the boy's shadow flickered in the candlelight. Sat still in the chair, not appearing to move at all. Not even appearing to breathe.

The air stifled like a poison. Like the toxic fumes from a cauldron. And Severus awaited his judgement.

Awaited the boy's decree.

Whether he would speak to Severus again, or cut him out his life like a cancer.

Maybe the latter was better.

Better for them both.

Several minutes passed while silence reigned, while students milled about the castle, while the Headmaster plotted his games. Ignorant to the world shifting beneath their feet.

"I--I need time," Harry whispered, "time to think, time to... process."

Severus nodded, exhaled. "Take all the time you need."

He watched Harry's shadow nod. But the boy didn't get up. He sat, as if his mind were still whirling with all he now knew.

"The--" Harry's voice choked like he could barely speak the words, "the mercy kills. Who were they? Why?"

Severus remembered them more clearly than the Muggle man. More clearly than his own father's murder. With a crisp, brutal clarity and visceral definition. Like a stepping into a pensieve.

The smell of blood and sickness.

Their cries of pain.

"A werewolf, Greyback... turned them," Severus whispered, "he turned a lot of people... Most of them children. He considered the bite to be... a gift." Severus swallowed. "It is dangerous, the transition. Some wizards and witches never survive it, but Muggles..." Severus closed his eyes, "they almost never do. It's a brutal end. The days up to the first moon, and... that night..." Severus shook his head. "It's a fate I wouldn't wish upon my greatest enemy." Severus sucked in a breath.

"Greyback held some of his victims captive, after the raids. To bolster his 'pack'. I would provide potions to heal their wounds, to keep them... alive. But among them I would sometimes find... Muggles." Severus felt nauseous just thinking about it. Of what happened to them. What was left of them, after the moon had finished with them. "After I saw what... happened to those first Muggles, I brewed poisons. Anesthetizing, soporific. Like slipping off to a peaceful sleep. And I..."

Harry exhaled. A strange, almost relieved sound.

"I..." Harry paused. "I have one last question." He inhaled and exhaled slowly. Steadying himself. "When did you... When was this? After the raid, after you turned... joined Dumbledore...?"

"Before," Severus said. "Once before I turned spy. Once just before... the raid."

Severus saw the boy's shadow nod. "O-okay," Harry whispered. "I... Thank you."

Severus's head snapped up at that. "Wh-why? Why-ever would you be...?"

The boy had a light in his eyes. Raw from tears and torment. Lips pressed together.

He stared at Severus as if he were a wounded animal. As if he were watching a dangerous beast carrying a fatal wound, and the boy didn't know how to ease his suffering without having his own heart ripped out his chest.

"Thank you for telling me the truth, even though..." Harry swallowed, "even though it hurt." The boy lifted from the seat, slow and unsteady. He paused once again before he left, as if he wanted to say something else. As if something was on the tip of his tongue.

But he just stood there, watching Severus, silent.

Then stepped out the door.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY! 
> 
> Don't worry, I wouldn't leave you hanging after a cliffhanger like that. Next chapter is up now. Hope it helps to ease the heartbreak.
> 
> Thanks again for all the lovely comments and kudos! You guys really make my day.
> 
> ❤️❤️❤️


	11. Chapter 11

Harry hated breakfasts at Hogwarts. The food was either greasy or plain or both. Sausages, bacon, eggs, or cornflakes, kippers and bread.

There was porridge, but barely any preserves and absolutely no fruit or nuts. If you wanted to add flavor, you had a choice of golden syrup or sugar. That was your lot.

Harry wondered how the entire Wizarding World wasn't obese or suffering heart disease and diabetes.

Harry sat there, miserable, every morning, eating porridge with golden syrup and missing home. Missing Jiffy and her chattering about how he needed to eat more vegetables and nearly bursting into tears when he tried to clean the dishes. He missed her surprise porridge flavors. Apricot, ginger and grapefruit. Or poached pears with peanut butter. Or a whole bowl full of fruit: bananas, raspberries orange slices and blueberries, drizzled with compote.

He'd sent his first letter to Jiffy yesterday, telling her as much, and asking how she was. He hoped that Snape was able to keep her busy. Jiffy never much liked being idle. Maybe it was a House Elf thing.

Harry was half-way through his porridge when Hedwig flew in with the rest of the Owls. She came to visit sometimes, sitting on his shoulder and burrowing in his hair. Today, she had a note.

_Dear Harry,_

_I know you get Friday afternoons off, so would you like to come and have a cup of tea with me around three? I want to hear all about your first week. Send us an answer back with Hedwig._

_Hagrid_

Harry pulled out a quill and scrawled a polite acceptance in reply, while Malfoy sneered.

"Why would you wish to spend time with that oaf?"

Harry huffed. "He's a nice enough guy, so long as you seem to like Dumbledore. And," Harry peered across at his friend, "he can't keep a secret to save his life."

Malfoy's brow lifted at that and he smirked. "Is that so?"

Harry sent Hedwig off after he'd stroked her feathers and passed her an owl treat.

He felt so exhausted today. He had nightmares the first couple of nights after their meeting. Harry dreamt he was walking through Little Whinging and the Death Eaters came. They set the houses alight and cackled like cartoon villains, while a giant werewolf prowled the streets, looking for Harry.

He'd managed to occlude before bed the last two nights. It helped to keep the nightmares at bay, but he still felt like he was running on fumes.

His mind was constantly whirling. He probably shouldn't have asked so many questions. But he was glad he knew. For better or worse. Maybe it was all those years in the cupboard under the stairs, but Harry had never liked being kept in the dark. Even if the truth hurt. He'd prefer that to ignorance.

He just didn't know what to do with the truth, now that he had it.

Malfoy finished reading the headlines of the Daily Prophet and passed Harry the paper. "All yours," he said. "I don't know why you don't just get your own subscription. You barely get time to read it by the time I'm finished."

Harry shrugged and took the paper.

He didn't want to get his own subscription. It felt too much like... giving up.

He stared at the headline, 'MINISTER URGES WIZENGAMOT TO ADOPT MUGGLE PROTECTION ACT', and wondered what SS would have written about it. A mocking remark about the Minister's intelligence, or a comment on the blatant bid to ransack old family estates. The Ministry had been looking for new ways to raid estates for Dark Artifacts for a decade, this was just a new name for the same old nonsense.

He flicked through to the Potions News section, reading with interest about a bill drafted to try and monitor the purchase of certain poisonous herbs and fauna. The news was hidden in plain sight like a perfectly innocent announcement of no real consequence, but Harry got out his still-unused potions notebook and wrote it down.

"Will you stop that," Malfoy hissed at him, "you're not going to alleviate rumors like that you know." He glanced around the table at where the Slytherin's were watching him meticulously scour the Potions News.

"As if I care," Harry muttered, finishing up his note and turning to the Financial Pages. "People will think what they want about me." _Like they always have._

"Can't you just read the Prophet for gossip, like a normal eleven year old?" Malfoy huffed.

Harry sighed and turned to the society pages. There, at the top, was a curious article. 'THE HIDDEN DEPTHS OF PROF. SEVERUS SNAPE'.

They'd added an old picture of the Potions Master at a Malfoy Ball, wearing slightly nicer robes than usual and scowling furiously at the camera before flicking his wand in what Harry suspected was a retaliation hex at the photographer.

Harry couldn't help but smirk a little at the sight. His chest ached like he'd been punched.

The article spoke in vague terms about a recent rumor that he'd secretly fathered a child with a certain _'famous soldier of the Light'_ and how it gave renewed credence to Dumbledore's claim that he'd worked as a spy. It speculated about a forbidden love and romanticized what might have been.

_'After all these years, solitary and isolated, the young Severus Snape remains unmarried. It leaves one to wonder whether a woman already has his heart. A lost love that could never be replaced by another.'_

Harry didn't know much about Snape, but he had a feeling that the man was going to absolutely _loathe_ this.

"No mention of... details," Harry murmured, "that's..." he faded off. It wasn't a relief, to be honest. Instead, it was rather worrying. It felt like an omen of more to come.

"I'd watch out for her," Malfoy tapped his finger at the author name, _'Rita Skeeter'_. "Father says a number of people have had to offer... _compensations_ to keep their dirty laundry out the papers."

Harry hummed and winced.

She was probably digging then. This might even be a warning. A way of getting his attention and making him take notice.

The bell for class chimed. Harry handed Malfoy back his paper and packed away his potions notebook. He spotted Snape, from the High Table, where he sat drinking black coffee and eating nothing, glance at his notebook with interest before draining his coffee and sweeping away.

Harry hesitated, watching the man's back as he left.

They'd barely looked at each other since that evening. A glance or two across the Hall, eyes meeting for a moment before someone inevitably looked away.

The Slytherins filed back to the dungeons. The Gryffindors followed behind them, jostling and play-fighting.

As Potions was more focused work, the school had to split the classes in two for each year. That made sense enough. What Harry couldn't figure out was why some idiot had decided to stick Gryffindors and Slytherin's together during a class that brewed volatile substances likely to explore.

They wandered inside the classroom door and Harry tried to catch Ron's eye while the boy huddled together with the other Gryffindors, wandering to one side of the room. The boy wasn't scowling at him, like the others were, but he didn't look up at Harry once.

Hermione Granger on the other hand, was alternating between reading _Magical Theory_ by Waffling and scowling at Harry as if plotting his demise. Malfoy snickered like all was going according to plan.

"Give it three weeks and she'll be hexing you in the halls," the blonde drawled from the seat beside Harry, "I bet I can get her expelled by All Hallows Eve."

The door snapped open behind them and the group startled. Snape prowled inside, his pristine robes billowing behind him and obsidian eyes staring through them like he could see into their souls.

The man didn't say a word, just swept back to the front, waiting for them all to take their seats before he called out the register.

When he was done, Snape placed it on his desk and fell into silence, for a long time. Gazing at them like he was judging their worth.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potions-making," he said, his voice a compelling whisper, like he was muttering a secret. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate powder of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory and even stopper death--if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

Harry was mesmerized.

This was the man in his element. Graceful and intense. Both terrifying and awe-inspiring. And, suddenly, Harry could see exactly what the Slytherin's respected about the man.

Unthinkably talented. Gaze sharp and knowing. His voice commanded respect with a mere whisper and entranced all to listen in silence.

He was clearly not easy to impress. And the yearning to make the man proud flooded through Harry unbidden. Despite everything he knew.

Despite all his hesitations and fears.

The Potions Master stepped through the aisles and inspected the students in the class, watching them itch under his gaze.

"Can anyone tell me what I would get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

 _The Draught of Living Death._ Harry cautiously lifted his hand but...

"Sir! The Draught of Living Death!" Came a desperate voice from the Gryffindor aisle.

The whole of Slytherin flinched. Snape stopped and whirled around, moving until he was standing in front of Hermione, glaring.

"Did you raise your hand, Miss Granger?" His quiet voice hissed.

The girl swallowed. "Uh, n-no, sir, I just--"

"Did I _call_ your _name_?" The man continued.

"N-no, sir."

"Then, you will remain _silent_." The man glowered. "In my class, you will wait until I have called your name before answering. You will treat my classroom with the dignity and respect it deserves, and _not_ like you are in some common _Muggle game show_. Do I make myself very clear?"

The girl nodded, eyes tearing up.

" _Aloud_ , Miss Granger."

"Y-yes, s-sir."

The Slytherins snickered with delight.

"A bit harsh," Harry whispered to Malfoy, low enough that nobody else could hear.

"Are you kidding?" Malfoy snorted. "That's him going _easy_ on her."

Harry's eyes widened and he turned back to Snape, while he stepped away from the girl without another glance and stepped toward the front of class.

"Can anyone tell me where you would look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Even with her recent humiliation, Hermione's hand shot in the air at lightning speed. Stretching it as high as it could go.

Harry waited to see if anyone else would, then lifted his own hand.

Snape's eyes fell on Harry, a glitter of something buried deep within. "Mr Potter. Please enlighten us."

"Uh, in the stomach of a goat, sir," Harry said, feeling his voice shiver as their gazes met.

Snape nodded, his lips twitching with the urge to smile before his facade retuned to emotionless. "Two points to Slytherin," he said. "Now, would anyone like to tell me what the difference is between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Hermione made a high-pitched sound, then lifted her hand as high as it would go without jumping up from her seat.

Harry lifted his own hand, but Snape seemed to be making an effort to be fair and sighed, looking at Hermione.

"Miss Granger?"

"They're the same plant, sir," Hermione cried, smirking with pride. "Also known as Aconite."

"Correct," Snape said. "Two points to Gryffindor." The Slytherin's jolted at that, eyes wide with surprise. But then Snape continued, with a smirk. "I don't suppose you would be able to illuminate the class on the recent news regarding the sale of aconite?"

Hermione's eyes widened with terror, mouth wobbling as if terrified by the thought of hearing a question she could not answer. An answer she couldn't read out of a book.

Harry slowly lifted his hand into the air and Snape smugly turned to him. "Mr Potter, if you could illuminate the class."

Harry pursed his lips. "The Ministry have, um, set up a new regulation which monitors the sale of aconite, so that buyers must register their name. It goes into effect in January."

Snape smirked proudly and Harry's mouth itched to mirror it. "Five points to Slytherin, Mr Potter."

Hermione made a horrified noise and the Slytherin's tittered. Malfoy nudged his shoulder with a smirk.

"Would anyone be able to take a guess as to _why_ this regulation might have been put in place?"

Hermione determinedly shot up her hand, leaping from her chair and standing on her toes.

"Miss Granger?"

"Because it is a lethal substance, sir, and an ingredient in a number of poisons."

Snape lifted a brow. "And then why, pray tell, is there not a similar regulation on _other_ poisonous substances? Why is there no register for venoms? For _all_ potions ingredients that might be turned to drafting a poison?"

Hermione choked, her mouth ajar and eyes wide with tears, absolutely horrified by the realization she was incorrect.

Snape turned to Harry. "Mr Potter. Do you have a theory?"

Harry licked his lip, resisting the urge to smirk back at the man. "Because aconite is a primary ingredient in the Wolfsbane brew. If the government register those who buy the substance in bulk, they can find the potioneers who supply the Wolfsbane potion to unregistered werewolves and pressure them into revealing a list of clientele."

Snape smiled. Not a smirk. A genuine _smile_. And nodded once. "Ten points to Slytherin for _excellent_ deductive reason."

Harry couldn't help but grin in reply. A burst of pride in his chest that was almost addictive.

Malfoy looked like Christmas had come early when he glanced over at Hermione and the girls face had gone bright purple with rage and humiliation, glaring at Harry with lethal intent.

"Make that _two_ weeks til she hexes you," Malfoy murmured.

Harry sighed.

#

The lesson ended abruptly when, half way through Snape's praise of his and Malfoy's 'perfectly brewed' potion, Neville Longbottom melted the bottom off Seamus Finnegan's cauldron and broke out in boils.

"Idiot boy!" Snape hissed at Neville while the boy broke out in boils and whimpered on the floor.

He wasn't exactly being fair, Harry decided, while he watched the teacher berate the poor Gryffindor. It was an easy enough mistake to make.

Harry winced at the sight of the boy, then stepped forward. "I can take him to the Hospital Wing, sir," Harry said.

Snape looked up curiously at that, then nodded. "Very well. You, Finnegan! Why didn't you tell him not to add the porcupine quills while it was still on the fire? Two points from Gryffindor."

Harry reached down and tentatively lifted the wailing Neville by the arm while the Slytherin's watched, as if trying to figure out what his ploy was.

Harry escorted Neville out the room and started the long climb to the Hospital Wing.

"Th-thanks," Neville murmured between wails of agony.

"No problem," Harry murmured. "Remind me to learn some kind of first aid spells. At least something to levitate people. I can't imagine walking several flights of stairs is going to be pleasant for you."

Neville whimpered as he laughed. "I--I've had worse."

Harry paused. "Like what?"

"Oh, y-you know," Neville murmured. "My family thought I was a squib, so my great-uncle Algie used to catch me off guard and force some magic out of me--you know, a jinx here and there. He pushed me off the edge of Blackpool pier once, I nearly drowned."

Harry frowned. "And... your parents were okay with that?"

"Oh, er," Neville winced. "I live with my gran, my parents aren't--"

Oh, Merlin. Harry remembered now. Longbottom. Like Frank and Alice Longbottom. Who'd been targeted in the war and left in a catatonic state.

"Oh, sorry," Harry said.

"It's okay," Neville whispered. "My great-uncle Algie was just trying to help. My gran cried when I finally showed my first bit of accidental magic. Uncle Algie came round for tea and he was hanging me out of an upstairs window by the ankles when my great-aunt Enid offered him a meringue and he accidentally let go. I bounced all the way down the garden and into the road. They'd never been happier. Except for maybe when I got into Hogwarts. Uncle Algie was so happy, he bought me Trevor. You know, my toad."

Harry felt a little sick.

He'd dropped him out a window.

Dropped him from an upper floor window. And his gran had still let the man breathe the same air as Neville. And, worse still, Neville thought the man had done him a _favor_.

"Would it have been that bad?" Harry asked. "If you were a squib, would it have been that bad?"

Neville blinked at that, as if he'd never considered otherwise. "Well... yeah. My gran would have been crushed. She probably would have never looked at me again. After losing..." Neville swallowed.

"But..." Harry stopped. The boy didn't get it.

If Neville _hadn't_ been a wizard, he could have died.

He might have broken his neck and died. And his family thought that was worth the risk.

It reminded Harry, all too much, of the Dursleys. Of their failed efforts to stamp the magic out of him. Harry swallowed a bitter taste and remained silent. Thinking through his options.

When they reached the Hospital Ward, Madam Pomfrey tutted and huffed at Neville, chastising him for getting into this mess.

Harry waited silently by the boy's bedside while Pomfrey rushed around for counter potions and administered magical pain-killers.

"Th-thanks again, Harry." Neville said as he sighed with relief at the pain dipping away. He looked so absurdly grateful that Harry would offer to help him. As if nobody else ever would.

Harry smiled. "No worries, Nev. I'll speak to you soon, right? Let me know if you want some Potions tutoring."

The boy's eyes widened. "R-really?"

"Sure," Harry said. "Sounds like fun."

Neville blinked away tears. "Y-yeah. I'd... like that."

Harry waved as he walked away. But didn't step out the ward. Instead he stepped over to Pomfrey's office. The woman blinked at him as she answered the door.

"Can I help you, Mr Potter?"

"Yeah," Harry whispered. "Can you call Professor McGonagall? I think she might need to hear this, too."

#

The Slytherin's could smell a juicy plot when Harry arrived late to lunch. Malfoy asked subtle questions about what had kept him. Zabini just made teasing remarks on whether Harry was trying to win the Gryffindor's good graces.

Millicent Bullstrode sat forward with a smirk. "Snape told you to read the paper this morning, didn't he?"

Harry shook his head. "Must have seen me looking at the Potions News this morning and decided to test me."

The rest of the Slytherin's begrudgingly admitted that sounded more true to character. "Why were you looking at the Potions News, though?" Daphne asked.

"Because," Harry shrugged, picking a sandwich off the platter and onto his plate, "I didn't know anything about the Wizarding World until recently and where better to learn about it than the newspaper. You can learn a lot by reading beyond the headlines."

"What do you mean, you knew nothing?" Malfoy pressed. "I thought that was unfounded."

"Dumbledore sent Hagrid to tell me I was a Wizard on my eleventh birthday," Harry said, after swallowing a bite of sandwich. "My Aunt and Uncle never told me."

The rest of the Slytherin's flinched like they'd been shocked.

"You knew _nothing_?"

"Dumbledore did _what_!"

" _Hagrid_! The sodding _Game Keeper_!"

Harry shrugged. But, while the rest of the Slytherin's balked and chirped with fury at the indignity of having his heritage kept from him, and then revealed by _Hagrid_ , Malfoy was staring at him curiously, like he could smell a lie. The boy kept quiet, though. Returning to his meal as if he had no interest in the proceedings at all.

At five to three, when Harry left the castle, Malfoy insisted on coming with him.

"Hagrid might not react well to... you know..." Harry said.

"Yes, I _do_ know," Malfoy drawled, "but if he's as gullible as you say I'm certain he will come around."

Harry rolled his eyes.

Malfoy winced as he spotted the small wooden hut on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, but did not say anything.

There was a barking and a scratching at the door then Hagrid's voice boomed, "Back, Fang--back!" And Malfoy stepped behind Harry as if he were a human shield.

Hagrid appeared in the doorway then let Harry inside, only spotting Malfoy when Fang bounded at the boy and the blonde Slytherin screeched, knocked to the floor while Fang gave him a tongue bath.

"Get him off!" Malfoy yelped, trying to wriggle free of the boarhound.

"Back, Fang! Back!" Hagrid wrestled the boarhound away. "Well, ai'll be. He likes yeh. Usually a good judge o' character, Fang..." Hagrid stared at Malfoy suspiciously. "Yer the Malfoy boy, ain't yeh?"

"Yes," Malfoy squeaked, jumping to his feet. Harry cast a Scourgify and the boy looked eternally grateful. "Uh, you're Rubeus Hagrid, correct? Harry spoke very well of you, so I thought I'd introduce myself."

Hagrid teared up, gazed at Harry and sniffed. "Oh, 'arry. That's so kind of yeh. And after all I--" Hagrid pulled out a giant handkerchief and blew his nose. "When they said yer were missin', I though' it'd been all my fault. Messin' up like that. Not tellin' yeh 'bout the barrier and lettin' you go back ter those wretched Muggles all alone."

The giant let out a piteous cry and tears burst free. Harry stepped forward and patted the man gently on the shoulder. "There, there," he said awkwardly, "it all turned out okay. I found the barrier. I found an old book of my mum's for Muggle-borns and it explained everything."

Hagrid fell to his knee and scooped Harry up in a wailing hug, his black beard scratching at Harry's ear. Behind them, he heard Malfoy shriek as Fang wandered back over to lick him again.

"Thank Merlin," Hagrid sobbed. "Thought ai'd lost yeh for good. Thought yeh'd been snapped up by Death Eaters or all sorts." The man finally released the boy and spotted Malfoy knocked back on the floor. "Back, Fang! Back!"

They managed to wrestle Malfoy free of Fang and settled on a couple of chairs while Fang slobbered in on boy's lap.

Harry cast an Impervious on Malfoy's robes and the boy's eyes glittered with gratitude. And more than a little fear.

Hagrid wandered off to make them tea and Malfoy cleared his throat and decided to test just how worthwhile further visits to the giant would be.

"That must have been a real shock, hearing about Harry," Malfoy said, playing at sympathetic. "I can't even imagine how worried Dumbledore must have been."

"Oh, poor Dumbledore!" Hagrid sniffed. "He was gutted. They really put 'im through the ringer when they found out he didn't send a teacher."

"Oh _no_ ," Malfoy said, then smirked victoriously when the giants back was turned.

"Oh yeh," Hagrid pursed his lips and shook his head. "McGonagall was _furious_ , but Scrimgeour... he had most'a the Auror Office scourin' all over the place. An' when he found out the Dursley's left yeh to fend fer yourself..." Hagrid's lip trembled. "We though' yer wer _gone_ , Harry! Thought yeh'd been whisked away by some Dark Wizard. Scrimgeour put Dumbledore through the ringer fer it and McGonagall looked like she migh'ta cursed 'im."

"Oh _no_ ," Malfoy said, gravely shaking his head. "That must have been awful."

"Aye, it were," Hagrid set down their tea and rock cakes. Harry tried to take a bite of his rock cake and nearly broke his teeth. He gave Malfoy a significant look and the blonde nodded, then cautiously slipped the rock cake to Fang, who was still drooling on his lap. "Thought they'd get 'im sacked fer it. But, o' course, yeh can't blame 'im. He tried to keep an eye out fer yeh, af'er all."

Malfoy shot Harry a questioning look.

"Did he?" Harry asked. "Well that's nice of him."

"Well, o'course he did. Dumbledore'll always keep yeh safe. Worried that yeh wouldn't'a known how ta get through so he told a friend tah keep an eye out."

Malfoy straightened slightly but schooled his features. "Well, that's... thoughtful of him."

"Great man, Dumbledore," Hagrid said, as if by rote.

Malfoy hummed, then proceeded to make subtle smalltalk about Head Auror Scrimgeour until the giant revealed how 'rude' he'd been to Dumbledore and the way an Auror named Kingsley Shacklebot had been furious after meeting those _'awful, nasty Dursleys'_.

Harry glared and elbowed Malfoy when the boy tried to dig for more dirt on his family life, and the boy acquiesced. Turning back to lighter subjects like the magical creatures under Hagrid's care. Which eventually turned to their mutual love of Dragons. Malfoy bragged endlessly about his visit to the Romanian Sanctuary and lamented the fact he couldn't take an egg home.

"I think it's _awful_ that they make owning a dragon illegal," Malfoy said with what appeared to be genuine interest in the subject. "Surely if you're _responsible_ enough, it would be no problem."

"Exactly!" Hagrid said, nodding eagerly. "Oh, I've always wanted a dragon. And nobody'd love it as much as me. Why, if I can raise an Acromantula, then a dragon can't be that hard, now, can it?"

Malfoy spluttered and his eyes widened with fear and intrigue. "R-really...?"

While Malfoy extracted details about Hagrid's numerous contacts in the Forbidden Forest and the occasional ingredient harvests he did for Snape, Harry's eye was caught on a newspaper cutting lying under a tea cosy.

#

_GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST._

_Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31 July, widely believed to be the work of Dark Wizards or Witches unknown._

#

Harry frowned at the familiar headline. Dated to just before he started at Hogwarts, cut out of the newspaper and left on the table for him like a clue.

 _Dumbledore_ , Harry frowned. This stank of manipulation. An invite to Hagrid's hut and a newspaper cutting left out for him to discover.

Harry swallowed down a bitter taste and slipped the cutting in his satchel.

Hagrid sent the two of them away with pockets full of rock cakes and a comment to Malfoy about how he seemed like a nice lad.

Malfoy looked euphoric as he sauntered toward the castle. "That was far more productive than I thought it would be. Remind me to buy the oaf a Christmas present. He is a more fruitful acquaintanceship to foster than I thought."

Harry lifted a brow. "You're absolutely evil."

"He's an _untapped mine_ of gossip about Dumbledore," Malfoy scoffed, " _and_ he's got an in with _Acromantulas_! Do you know how many potions masters would literally _kill_ to be given access? It's like finding a giant diamond in steaming hippogriff dung."

Harry elbowed him. "Stop that, he's a _nice_ guy. Don't overdo it. If it gets back to Dumbledore that you're using him for information, Hagrid will be gutted."

Malfoy's grin faded. "Of course," he muttered, "and then he'll never speak to me again. And I'll lose my contact with the Acromantula's..."

Harry rolled his eyes.

"Don't think I didn't notice that comment about Dumbledore telling a friend to 'keep an eye out'," Malfoy said.

"I know you did."

"Well?" Malfoy lifted a brow. "That's what that nonsense with the Weasel was about, wasn't it? He's one of the Headmaster's puppets and Dumbledore wanted you to make best friends when they _stumbled_ upon you in your _time of need_."

Harry said nothing.

"I _knew it_ ," Malfoy hissed. "What a manipulative prick."

Harry snorted. "And the 'Most Hypocritical Bastard of the Year Award' goes to..."

Malfoy elbowed him as a pink hue graced his cheeks.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, the next chapter is in the works!
> 
> ❤️❤️❤️


	12. Chapter 12

It arrived on Wednesday with his breakfast, along with Severus's copy of his Daily Prophet that Jiffy fetched from the Owlery.

A note, in Harry's handwriting. Penned so carefully that Severus wondered if he'd made drafts.

_'Can we meet again soon?'_

Severus felt a flood of every emotion at once. Relief. Fear. Joy and grief. He swallowed them all down. Occluded and wrote his reply.

_'Of course. Same spot as last time. After dinner.'_

Severus ate breakfast in his rooms at five in the morning, as he always had. He'd sit with the newspaper, itching to write comments in the margins and barely stopping himself.

Then, when he was done, he'd wander up to the Great Hall with a Potions Journal and read it over coffee, making an appearance as Dumbledore had insisted he do, twice a day, since the early days of his tenure.

_"Otherwise, my boy, I fear we'd never see you outside the dungeon ever again."_

It was a more tolerable duty now that Harry was there.

The boy still ate porridge. Still hadn't got himself a subscription to the Daily Prophet. The hope that they'd one day return to that small routine was almost too painful to bear.

Today, however, beside Severus's usual seat he found Minerva, feigning disinterest and flicking through the Daily Prophet to the society section, where yet another article had been written about him by that wretched wench Rita Skeeter.

"Why, Severus," Minerva smirked, "at this rate you'll be awarded 'Eligible Bachelor of the Year'."

Severus sneered at the paper. "I will have to deal with that woman."

Minerva chortled. "Oh dear, do go easy on her."

"No," Severus said, turning back to his journal article.

Minerva sighed and fondly shook her head, then pretended to read an article while she leaned slightly closer to Severus. "May I recruit your expertise in a matter which requires a... a more Slytherin mind?"

Severus flicked a page while his mind whirred. "Lunch. In your office. We can have it sent up."

"Thank you," she said, then folded her newspaper. "Until then." She stood up and walked away.

Severus had to admit, sometimes that woman appeared more Slytherin than Gryffindor herself.

He made conscious effort not to be detected on the walk up to Minerva's office at noon. His spy instincts never quite left and this felt like a moment that required them.

Their absence from lunch wouldn't be noted. They both often skipped the Hall to mark papers in their offices with a sandwich.

When he found Minerva there, she appeared to have ordered up his favorite. Steak. Bloody.

"If I didn't know you better, Minerva, I'd think this was an effort at bribery," Severus said, slicing his steak and relishing in the first blissful mouthful.

"Merely putting you in a good mood," Minerva admitted, slicing her own well-done steak and taking a bite.

She let him eat in peace, which was wise, instead of jumping straight to the matter. Minerva had known him long enough to know not to bother Severus while he was eating. Too many young, foolish Professors had made that mistake and lived to regret it.

When he'd finished the meal and their plates popped away, only then did she fold her hands together on the desk and turn gravely to him.

"I need your advice about a student," she said, not bothering to dance around the matter. "Tell me, Severus, you've dealt with numerous abuse cases in the past, haven't you?"

"Unfortunately," Severus admitted. "I have some varied experience in the matter."

Minerva nodded. "Including those with... powerful guardians. Pure-blood families with Ministry influence."

"Yes," Severus said, leaning back in his chair. "It is a nasty business, but it is possible."

"And how did you deal with it?"

"That would depend entirely upon the case," Severus answered honestly. "It is much like playing chess. You decide upon your moves based on where your opponents weaknesses are. You cannot truly predict those matters ahead of a game."

Minerva huffed and rubbed her eyes. "I may be in over my head in this matter."

Severus hummed. "I can keep it confidential, if you wish for a second opinion."

Minerva swallowed, staring down at her desk for a long time. "Longbottom."

"Neville?" Severus blinked and frowned. "Frank and Alice's boy?"

She nodded. "His Great-Uncle has repeatedly hurt and humiliated him, nearly killed him on several occasions in an effort to 'scare' the magic out of him. And his Grandmother... she's clearly not looking after the boy the way she should. He has signs of neglect and anxiety more on par with that of a patient with PTSD. When I went to her with the boy's health report she acted as if nothing was awry. She said he was just too _'feeble'_ and needed to _'toughen up'_. And when I accused the boy's Great Uncle... she did not react well."

"He has been physically abused?" Severus felt sick at the thought. He'd assumed the boy was coddled, and treated him abysmally for it.

Minerva nodded. "She claims it wasn't abuse, but hexing a boy, near-drowning him and dropping him out a third story window is nothing short of abuse."

"Merlin," Severus hissed, "they Assayed him?"

"Augusta _insists_ it was an ' _accident'_ ," Minerva sneered at the thought. "That Algie had been hanging the boy upside down and then _accidentally_ dropped him."

"Of course," Severus snorted. "I heard a similar story from Avery Senior once. What _slippery_ _fingers_ these pure-bloods have."

Minerva almost smiled at that. It fell quickly. "I went to Dumbledore about it."

Severus scowled. "Let me guess," he said. "Some pitiful story about not depriving poor, _darling_ Augusta of her last remaining piece of Frank. A heart-rending tale about how she could _never survive it_."

Minerva didn't answer, just stared at her clasped hands. "What do I do?" She whispered. "I don't want to go to the Aurors but... Assaying _is_ illegal."

"An unwise choice," Severus said. "It would be too easy for Albus to make the investigation disappear. And, even if he didn't, they aren't going to prosecute the Longbottoms. Not after what happened to Frank and Alice," Severus tapped his finger against the arm rest and gazed out the window to the Forbidden Forest. "Go to the Goblins."

"The Goblins?" Minerva frowned. "Why?"

"Because Wills are still written under the dictates of Goblin Law and the terms of a Will can still be enforced by Goblins where necessary," Severus tapped his finger against the rest and closed his eyes, thinking through a strategy. "Goblins add a number of if-when clauses to them, especially when the matter of children comes into account. These are included because if an Heir falls under the guardianship of the Ministry then their fortune is monitored by a particularly nasty regulation that confiscates property deemed... _undesirable_.

"Goblins abhor that regulation and consider it nothing short of _theft_. As such, if Goblins have reason to believe one guardian unfit to care for their Heir of a Family fortune, they simply read through a large list of possibilities until they find a more suitable alternative. And Goblins are very good at... _motivating_ people to do what the contract dictates, by _any_ means necessary. Frank and Alice might not be dead, but they are in a state which leaves them unable to care for their child. Their Will should have a clause for that eventuality. But be prepared to bring a healthy bribe to the table."

Minerva made a choked noise that sounded between a cry and a laugh. "I do not know if I have the stomach for all this."

Severus lifted a brow at her. "You are the guardian of a pride of _Gryffindors_ , Minerva. Goblins are far more palatable by comparison."

#

There was a coffee table this time. Harry arrived and a pot of tea had been set down there, with two cups and a little letter with 'Young Master Harry'. Scribbled with unsteady handwriting.

Harry smiled when he saw it.

"I was wondering why Jiffy kept borrowing my dictionary," Snape said, pouring a cup of tea. "Perhaps I should buy her one of her own."

"That would be nice," Harry said, as Snape poured out a dash of milk in each cup. "This is very... civilized."

"Not my idea," Snape said. "Jiffy seems to believe we're having _'tea socials'_ in here. She's not allowed to listen in, just invisibly guard the door, and she doesn't know the topic, so..."

Harry smiled sadly, then picked up the cup with a shivering hand. "I guess it can't hurt to let her go on thinking it."

Snape hesitated. "I suppose not," he said. "Though I had to draw the line at miniature cakes and finger sandwiches."

Harry snorted, trying desperately not to smile but feeling it prickle at his mouth. He stared down at his teacup. "Is it strange that..." Harry hesitated, "that I missed this? Even though we'd never really met before."

"No," Snape smiled softly. "I missed this too."

Harry felt a burn behind his eyes and looked down.

"I, um, think Jiffy might've spoiled me. Hogwarts food is just so..."

"No need to explain. I loathe the cuisine here. British to a fault. There is a reason the rest of the continent calls our food dull. Because _it is_."

Harry burst with a nervous laugh. "Where did all the fruit go?"

"Or the _vegetables_ ," Snape frowned. "Just once I'd like to see a selection of more than just _peas_ and _carrots_ ," he said. "At least I can still eat Jiffy's cuisine in the privacy of my rooms."

Harry sighed miserably. "I'm jealous."

"I'll consider this a formal request to your Head of House for more health-conscious meals. Hopefully the House Elves will _listen_ if I drop your name."

Harry smirked. "I don't think I'd ever heard of House Elves that won't listen to a request."

Snape huffed. "They make, and have always made, the same recipes that Helga Hufflepuff gave them when she created the kitchens. Unfortunately, alterations to the menu are considered nothing short of sacrilege to her memory, and they've only been known to comply once in every few hundred years."

"Oh god," Harry shuddered, "a _thousand years_ of Shepherd's pie and steak and kidney pudding."

"The French would consider that a special type of hell," Snape replied and Harry fell apart laughing, clutching his side while his tea spilled on his lap.

When he looked up the Potion's Master's eyes were glittering with grief and joy, a small smile plucking at his lips.

Harry swallowed and blinked away the strange urge to cry.

"How can you still even... look at me?" Snape whispered.

Harry looked down and swallowed.

"Because..." Harry paused. He couldn't quite explain it. He'd thought about it all week, gone over everything he knew. Thought about who Snape had once been. The man he was now. The fear of opening up his heart and having it broken. Still, the hope that he could have someone... a family. Harry didn't want to give that up. Not yet. "I think... I think you're still a good person. I think you..." Harry threaded his fingers together like he was praying, "I think you hate yourself enough for both of us, so I'd like to... give you a chance."

Snape choked on a sad laugh at that. "That sounds like... something your mother would have said."

Harry smiled sadly and looked up.

They gazed at each other for a few calm moments in silence. The prickle of something unsaid beneath them. A decision which would change everything.

Harry pursed his lips. "I want to... take it slow. Go back to the way things were, when we were friends, and maybe try and just... take it one step at a time."

Snape seemed to slump with relief. "I... yes," he whispered. "I'd like that."

Harry looked down, scratched at the back of his hand. "Did the Headmaster... did he make you take the vow after all?"

Snape sat back and breathed. "I am unable to answer the question, but I can say that the old man is rather predictable when you know him well enough."

Harry smiled up at him. "No surprises?"

"No," Snape said with a mischievous grin. "Not at this time, but I suspect he is working on one."

Harry nodded, then pulled out the newspaper clipping, setting it down on the coffee table. "I think Dumbledore is trying to get me to look for whatever was taken from Vault 713. I was there when Hagrid emptied it and I found this on his table when he invited me over for tea."

Snape picked it up and scowled at it. "Hagrid does not strike me as the sort who collects newspaper cuttings."

"No," Harry said. "I think that Dumbledore left it for me."

"Indubitably." Snape licked his teeth and his finger tapped against his knee.

"Why would he want me to find it?" Harry asked.

"That is anybody's guess," Snape said, breathing, "I feel reluctant to tell you too many details, but I can say that the staff were called upon to set up a form of... _protection_ on an item of some incalculable value. Dumbledore did so at the urging by an old friend, the owner of the object, who said it was in danger of being stolen."

"By who?" Harry asked.

"The Headmaster was not forthcoming," Snape said, "but given that they were able to break into Gringotts, I fear them to be a vastly powerful Dark Wizard."

"That seems..." Harry scowled. "Why bring it here? If the thief is so dangerous, then why put the children at this school in danger. Why not put it under a Fidelius in some undisclosed location instead?"

Snape's brows raised. "You've been reading up on the Fidelius Charm?"

Harry bit his lip and nodded. "Uh, I had a conversation with Flitwick in class about the wide applicability of charms and the oldest and most powerful types."

Snape smirked at that. "So that's why he was bragging to me about you being a _'natural student, just like Lily'_."

Harry's cheeks felt hot. "Um, yeah, I guess. I just found the theory interesting, that's all. Spell creation and its links to arithmancy, runes and wild magic."

Snape smiled at Harry like he'd never been more proud of anyone in his life. "Your mother was fascinated by it too. I suspect that she would have gone on to do great things, if she'd... if she'd been granted the chance."

Harry pursed his lips, then smiled. "She did," Harry said. "She bested the Dark Lord."

Snape's eyes sparkled with mirth and glee. "That she did."

Harry chuckled, then looked down at his clasped hands. "When you said you didn't know if..." Harry paused, "if you're... my father. Why don't you know?"

Snape was silent for a long time. "Because I had not seen your mother in over a year at the time you were conceived. And it was at a time when... when I was in a very dark place indeed."

Harry gripped his hands and chewed his lip. His mind whirring. "October '79," Harry whispered.

"Yes," Snape said. "It would have been around then, after I..." The man swallowed. "So I doubt that your mother would have so much as _looked_ at me."

Harry swallowed and worried at his lip. He tried to think it all through. Everything that Snape had told him. To search for whatever was missing. To find a clue that could be picked at and unravelled.

_'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches...'_

" _'Born to those who thrice defied him,'_ " Harry muttered aloud and a thought snapped into place. "That night... the raid, you said it was a blur."

Snape frowned at that. "Yes."

"Maybe you..." Harry hesitated, "maybe you saw something you don't remember. I was reading about memory spells yesterday--"

"Of course you were," Snape sighed. "Should I even ask where you got hold of a book on obliviation?"

Harry reddened. "Um, by keeping Hagrid distracted at Diagon Alley..."

Snape hummed.

Harry cleared his throat. "Well... I'm right, though. You said the night was a blur, that you had trouble remembering parts of it. Maybe you've forgotten something. Maybe you met my mother there. Maybe..." Harry paused, "maybe you defied the Dark Lord, and you don't remember it."

Snape blinked at that, a curiosity and fear flooding across his eyes. "I doubt I had enough power for independent thought at the time."

" _'Born to those who thrice defied him,'_ " Harry repeated aloud. "If you're really..." Harry hesitated. "If you're really my father, then you must have defied him. Three times. Maybe... maybe, that night, something happened. It was the first time you'd... you'd seen what the Death Eaters really were. Maybe something else happened."

Snape swallowed, pursing his lips. "It is possible, but I find it... highly unlikely."

"But it's _possible_ ," Harry urged. "Is there a way to get back obliviated memories?"

Snape stared at him a long time. "Yes," he sighed, "once one has enough knowledge of what might be missing, a skilled Occlumens or Legimens can search for it and pull it back to the surface. Unbury it, so to speak."

Harry sighed with relief. "Then you'll try?" He asked.

Slowly, Snape nodded. "I'll try."

Harry smiled. "Thank you," he said, smiling gratefully.

Snape's returning smile was almost broken-hearted.

#

The next morning, when Harry sat down to breakfast, there it was.

Fruit.

Poached pears and sliced apricots. Bananas and grapefruit, cut to pieces and preserved by a spell. Blueberries and strawberries and maple flavored squash. Cranberries and oranges and plums.

Harry's mouth watered at the sight while the rest of the Slytherin's stared in shock. Then he spotted it, the little pots beside the porridge. He lifted one lid and beamed.

"Compote! _Finally_ ," Harry cried, then picked up the rest. "Mixed berry, orange, apple, maple syrup, oh _hell_ yes, peanut butter."

Malfoy smirked at him and raised a brow. "Using your... special privileges for the wellbeing of all, I see."

"Hey, you'll hear no complaints from me," Zabini said, heaping a bowl with yogurt, granola and layers of fruit. "If you can get biscottate added to the table, I'd give you my first born."

Harry smirked and piled in his porridge, mixed it with some yogurt, then added a berry compote on top with strawberries, blueberries, plums and sprinkled pistachios.

Malfoy watched him curiously, then decided that the his choice of meal looked suitably interesting and copied it, with a more deliberate effort to perfect its presentation.

When Daphne arrived at the table, with Tracy, Theo and Bullstrode, she looked as though he'd saved her from some terrible plight worse than death and pounced on the healthier options like they'd be taken away from her.

The new table additions went down like a charm and the Slytherins were all eating swathes of fruit and compote under Snape's approving eye.

The rest of the tables were almost as keen, but he could see several Gryffindors pointedly ignoring the fruit like it was poisoned.

When the papers arrived, Harry grabbed his bowl off the table protectively, to avoid some owl dropping something unwelcome in it, and was eternally grateful that he had when a newspaper plopped on his his place setting with his name tied around a piece of string.

"Finally got yourself a subscription?" Malfoy commented, opening his own. "Thank _Merlin_ , it was starting to look as if you couldn't afford your own paper."

"Uh, yeah," Harry untied the string and spotted the familiar writing in the upper hand corner.

_'I hope you don't mind my presumption in returning to our old routine. I found myself missing it. I performed a spell which will conceal my notes on this to all but the intended recipient. So you may peruse at your leisure without fear of others surveilling. SS.'_

Harry smiled, something aching at the back of his eyes, and glanced up at the Head Table, where Snape was sipping his coffee. The man smiled a little and nodded faintly in reply.

Harry turned back to the paper and began to read.

#

A House Elf arrived in Severus's classroom once the students had departed for lunch, head held high.

"Professor Headmaster Dumbledore wishes to speak to you in his offices, sir," the House Elf said proudly. "The password is 'Pink Sherbet'."

Then he popped away. Severus sighed and began the climb to the old man's office.

It had been only a few days since the Dumbledore had ordered him there last. A quick, terse conversation which moved more like an interrogation

_'Have you approached the boy?'_

No.

_'Has the boy approached you?'_

No.

_'Do you intend to pursue a paternal relationship with him?'_

If he wishes for one.

The old bastard hadn't been best pleased by that last answer, but there was no point lying to him about it. Better to have that much out in the open, so Severus could see how the old man would react.

When he'd asked if Severus was planning on telling the boy about the prophecy, Severus told him that the boy was only a child and didn't deserve that burden placed upon him, which was true enough. But the old man still made him take the unbreakable vow.

Severus had known the old man would do it, and knew he'd have to choose between refusing and gaining the old man's suspicion, or agreeing and having the Headmaster feel some false sense of control and relief.

"Pink Sherbet," Severus said aloud to the gargoyle, with some distaste and rose through the turret to the office above.

Dumbledore was sitting at his desk, eyes twinkling with false delight as Severus stepped inside. It was immensely worrying.

"Severus, my boy," the old man said, "good to see you, take a seat. I'm having the kitchens bring us something to nibble on."

Severus seated himself in the chair opposite the desk, folded his legs and placed one hand on his knee. "You plan for this to be a long conversation, then?"

"It would be lovely to catch up," Albus said. "We haven't had the chance since term began."

"Indeed."

"Well? How have the new students fared?"

"Only one of them melted their cauldron in their first lesson and there are at least four who aren't _complete_ dunderheads."

"Well, that sounds promising," Albus chuckled. "And how was young Harry's first lesson? I hear he performed admirably."

"Evidently," Severus allowed himself a small smirk. "I spotted him reading the Potions News Section in the Daily Prophet, before class. He has his mother's mind, I'm grateful to say."

Albus's smile turned very rigid, then he chuckled. "Well, James was no dunderhead himself, you know?"

"James Potter was many things."

"That he was," Albus replied, leaning back in his chair. "Have you approached the boy?"

"No," Severus said. "Not yet."

"Why not?" Albus asked.

Severus hesitated. "Because I was not sure what was wise and suspected that you would have certain _orders_ in regards to the matter."

Albus's twinkle died. His gaze turned contemplative for a moment. Then a two-tiered tray of mini-cakes and finger sandwiches popped onto the Headmaster's desk, alongside two plates.

Severus rolled his eyes.

"Oh, splendid," the Headmaster cried, then picked up a plate. "Do help yourself, Severus. I'm quite partial to cucumber sandwiches myself."

Severus sighed and picked up a plate, loading on a small selection of sandwiches and picking at them.

There was a silence as they ate. The old man, however, did not have the sense to hold back until he'd finished eating, as Minerva did.

"Do you truly remember nothing, Severus?"

"Not a whisper."

Albus hummed. "It might be... advantageous of you to try and unpick any hidden memories."

Severus paused, then looked back up. "You think it to be true, then? That the boy could be mine."

Albus stared at him, expression grave, then attempted a kindly smile. "I think it would be best that we had the full facts. I would offer to assist you but I know better than to think you'd appreciate it."

 _Control. Of course,_ Severus realized. _He hates the thought that something like this could have happened without his knowledge._

"Do you need my pensieve?" The Headmaster asked.

"No need," Severus said. "I have my own." _As you know well, since you scoured it yourself._

The Headmaster nodded. "Excellent," he said. "Well, I leave the matter in your hands, then."

"Is that all?" Severus asked.

"Surely you're not _that_ keen to be rid of me," Albus said with a twinkle.

"Simply hoping to get whatever you're plotting out in the open so I can eat in peace."

Albus scoffed at him. "Acrimonious as always," he chuckled. "No, that isn't all. I wanted to tell you that I don't see the harm in you seeking out a more familiar relationship with the boy, if he wishes for one."

"You don't?" Severus frowned.

"No," Albus said. "So long as you understand that he _must_ remain with the Dursleys. The blood wards are keeping him safe, and it is for the best that it remains that way."

Severus lifted a brow and nodded. Silent for a moment. "I understand. May I... keep an eye on the situation? Make certain he is being treated well?"

"There is no need," Albus said. "But feel free to do so, if Harry agrees."

Severus nodded, slowly, sensing a lie. "What else aren't you saying?"

"Not everyone is plotting, my boy," Albus said with a twinkle. "I just want the best for Harry."

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for all your lovely messages and kudos! I hope you enjoyed the chapter!
> 
> ❤️❤️❤️


	13. Chapter 13

"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," Madam Hooch said. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet and then come straight back down by leaning forwards slightly. On my whistle--three, two--"

Neville, being scared witless and jumpy, thrust up into the air before the Professor had blown the whistle, swirling into the air, higher and higher, while he squealed and his face grew paler.

"Come back, boy!" The imbecilic woman yelled.

Couldn't the moronic teacher see that Neville was out of control of the broom?

Then Harry watched in horror while the poor boy slipped off the broom and slammed into the ground with a might crack.

Harry's eyes widened and his stomach coiled with nausea.

_She just let him fall. Why didn't she cast a spell to cushion it?_

"Broken wrist," she muttered, "Come on, boy--it's all right, up you get."

Harry scowled while she forced the poor boy to his feet and turned to the class. "None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave--"

"Madam Hooch!" Harry raised his voice higher than was probably necessary. "I'll take Neville, so you can keep an eye on the class."

The woman scowled at him. "I think it's ill advised to leave a student with a broken wrist without a teacher."

Harry lifted a brow. "Really? I think its a worse idea to leave a bunch of Slytherins and Gryffindors with brooms and expect no-one else to break anything."

The woman visibly flinched. "How dare you speak--"

"And shouldn't you have enough experience keeping an eye on the Quidditch team to know how to cushion a fall with a tardus charm. Why didn't you use it?"

The woman blushed bright red. "That--that's not--"

"I've been practicing the Stretcher Charm, so I think it would be best that you allow me to escort Neville to the hospital wing myself, so he doesn't have to climb the stairs with a broken arm and who knows what else. Since, apparently, you don't know how to perform _basic_ _first aid spells_."

Behind him, he could hear the Slytherin's quietly titter, barely holding back their mirth.

The woman went bright red and her mouth opened and closed with shock.

Harry ignored her, just stormed straight over and pointed his wand at Neville. " _Erigo!_ " He recited aloud, and the boy's legs lifted off the floor and his body lay flat in mid-air.

Neville looked unnerved at first, then absurdly grateful. Harry smiled at the boy and began the trek back to the castle with the boy's levitated body floating alongside him. Leaving the humiliated idiot of a teacher behind him.

"Th-thanks," Neville said, when they were out of earshot.

"No worries," Harry said. "Someone had to do something. Can't believe she tried to make you _walk_. What if you've injured your foot or something too?"

Neville peered at him curiously as they stepped inside and began climbing the stairs, chewing his lip and worrying silently to himself. "You--" he hesitated, "you told Professor McGonagall about my Great Uncle Algie, didn't you?"

Harry winced. A sharp pain slicing through his chest. "Oh, uh, sorry."

"Don't be," Neville whispered, "I'd never really... I thought it was fine, you know. I worried now and then, but when I told people, nobody cared, so I just thought I..."

"Deserved it?" Harry asked. "I know the feeling. People like that are... very good at making you feel like _you're_ the problem," he peered at Neville and smiled sadly.

"Y-you, too?" Neville asked.

Harry nodded. "I was raised by my Muggle relatives. My Aunt and Uncle. They're... horrible people. Tried to beat the magic out of me."

Neville's eyes glittered. "I'm so sorry," he whispered.

Harry shrugged. "It got better," he said. "I got sick and I think they must have worried they'd be visited by the authorities or something. But, after that, things got better."

Neville winced. "I... things were never that bad with me. Gran just... expects a lot from me."

"Like what?"

Neville swallowed and stared up at the ceiling while they walked to the ground floor stairwell. "She expects me to be my dad."

Harry nodded. "That's still not right."

Neville closed his eyes, his face grim. "I know," he whispered. "She's always... comparing me. Criticizing me. Nothing I do would ever be good enough. Even when I do make her happy, she's not praising me for me, she's praising me for being more like him."

Harry's stomach dropped at the thought. "I'm sorry."

A tear slipped down Neville's cheek. "I'm wearing his old robes, you know?" Neville whispered. "And using his old wand. And when I grew out of his old trousers and shirts, Gran yelled at me like..."

Harry reached down and held the boy's hand. "That's not right, Neville. That's not fair on you."

Neville sniffed, then nodded a little. "I've never..." He squeezed Harry's hand, "I'd never told anyone about that. Not 'til..." Neville swallowed. "Gran sent me a letter yesterday, telling me off for getting the teachers involved in _'family matters'_. She said that I'd betrayed my father's legacy and just needed to _'toughen up'_."

"That's a load of crap," Harry muttered, "you need someone who isn't going to treat you like..." like a replacement for someone else. A poor one, at that.

Neville smiled at little at that, then peered at Harry and whispered, like he was telling a secret. "I... I threw the letter in the fireplace."

Harry smirked and squeezed the boy's hand.

#

Some time after lessons had ended when Severus was having tea in the staff room, Hooch came tearing over to him with her cheeks red and hawk eyes ablaze.

"I have a bone to pick with you," she growled.

"Good afternoon, Rolanda," he said, turning back to his journal. "What did Marcus do now?"

"Not _Flint_ ," she snarled, " _Potter_!"

That comment seemed to gather the attention of the whole room, all the staff glancing over or feigning disinterest with half an eye turned their way.

"Oh?" Severus, turned the page. "Trouble with the first year flying class?"

"Well," she huffed, "if there were any doubt whose blood he was, I've certainly been convinced. _Never_ in _all my life_ have I been so _humiliated_!"

Severus resisted an urge to smile at that. "Oh?"

"The cheek of that boy! Accused me of _negligence_ and not being capable of _basic first aid spells_!" She cried. "And have you been _teaching_ him how to sneer?"

"Since I have barely spoken to the boy outside of class, I do not believe so," Severus said, staring at his journal. "And _why_ , pray tell, would Mr Potter be bringing up the subject of first aid spells and accusing you of negligence?"

She her face pinked further. "Th-that's not the point."

Severus hummed.

"The point is, I'm taking _twenty_ points off Slytherin for it and I expect you to give the boy a thorough talking to about how to respect authority!"

"I will see to it that Mr Potter is adequately chided for his behavior," Severus said.

Rolanda harrumphed and stomped away.

Severus allowed himself a small smirk before he returned to his journal.

#

"What do you mean I'm your 'second'?" Harry hissed. "What the hell is a second? And why are _duels_ still a _thing_?"

"A Wizarding Duel," Malfoy sneered, "is a _staple_ of gentile society. It is what separates sophisticates from mere _plebeians_ and it is customary to appoint a second in case I die during battle, so you can fight on in my stead and avenge my memory."

Harry rolled his eyes and rubbed his temples while they walked to the Great Hall. "What on earth are you thinking? We could get _expelled_ for this!"

"Of course we can't," Malfoy scoffed. "Father is on the Board of Governors, so I'd _never_ be expelled. _You'd_ never get expelled because you're the Boy-Who-Lived, and the _Weasel_ is in Dumbledore's pocket so, unfortunately, he's probably safe, too."

"Why, in _Merlin's name_ , would you duel with Ron?"

Malfoy scowled at him. "He slandered my name and said my family belonged in _Azkaban_. Then, he said I should watch my back, so _I_ told _him_ that if he were going to hex me, he should do it to my face, instead of waiting til I'd turned around, like a _sniveling little coward_."

Harry sighed. "So, basically, you goaded each other."

"Well," Malfoy hummed, "I was thinking that I may not even show up. I could tip off Filch instead and get him detention."

"After you called him a coward?" Harry lifted a brow.

Malfoy winced. "Good point," he sighed. "So, you'll be my second?"

"Fine," Harry rolled his eyes and took a seat at the long dining table. "But if we get caught I'm throwing you under the bus. _Hard_."

"Is that a muggle phrase?" Malfoy asked with a frown.

"It means," Harry said with a brow lifted, "if we get caught, you're on your own. I'm throwing you to the wolves."

"How very Slytherin of you," Malfoy smirked. "Speaking of which..." He said, as he stared over Harry's shoulder.

"Mr Potter," came a familiar, commanding voice. Harry looked behind him and saw Snape hovering with an expressionless facade. "Can you explain the sequence of events which preceded Madam Hooch accusing me of teaching you, and I quote, _'how to sneer'_?"

Harry bit his lip while he felt the Slytherin's around him barely hold back wicked laughter.

"Um, well, sir," Harry cleared his throat, "there was an accident during flying class. Neville's broom went out of control and he fell and broke his arm. I might have been a little... _unhappy_ with Madam Hooch for not cushioning his fall and for trying to leave the Slytherin's and Gryffindor's unattended and... trying to walk Neville up to the hospital wing instead of using a Stretcher Charm."

Snape lifted a brow. "And so you decided that the moment called for what Madam Hooch insists was an uncanny impression of _me_?"

Harry blushed. "S-sorry, sir. I just... lost my temper."

Snape hummed. "Did Madam Hooch leave the class unattended in the end?"

"No, sir," Harry swallowed, "I, uh, used the Stretcher Charm instead and, um, walked Neville to the ward."

"I take it this was _not_ at the Madam's request?"

Harry shook his head.

Snape nodded once. "Twenty points to Slytherin, Mr Potter. For attending to a classmate in need and averting the certain catastrophe that would have occurred at the hands of _unattended minors_ with _brooms_." He smirked a little while the Slytherin's chuckled. "As far as Madam Hooch knows, you will be having detention with me after dinner tomorrow for back-talk. I will see you in my office then."

Harry smirked. "Yes, sir."

Snape nodded once and walked back to the High Table, where the other Professors were watching carefully. Dumbledore in particular.

Malfoy nudged him. "The old man looks like he's going to have a stroke."

"You should have seen the Gryffindors," Zabini said, grinning. "Looked like they'd explode with fury."

"It _was_ rather exquisite," Pansy said while they waited for the food to arrive. "The Weasel was utterly _ashamed_. I think you stepped on their toes, you know, coming to the aid of their fellow Gryffindor like a Knight in silver armor."

Harry winced. "I just didn't like her treating Neville like that. Anyone with a brain could see he was out of control of his broom. If she can't look after _one_ student, how the hell is she supposed to keep an eye on _twenty_ of us. Not all of us spent the last ten years learning to fly."

"Neville definitely didn't," Daphne said. "Which is bizarre. You'd think, being from a wealthy pure-blood family, he'd be given a broom at least _once_ for Christmas."

"Probably fell off it," Zabini snarked and the Slytherin's tittered before Harry scowled them into silence. " _Merlin_ , Potter," Zabini said with a shiver, "you've gotta watch that glare of yours, it's a deadly weapon."

#

When it turned half eleven, Harry and Malfoy snuck out the Slytherin Dungeons and up to the trophy room on the third floor.

They crept cautiously through the halls. Harry kept expecting Filch or, even worse, Snape to suddenly pop up out of nowhere and chastise them, but they made it there with time to spare and waited, wandering around.

"This is so stupid," Harry whispered.

"Shh!" Malfoy hissed. "It's _not_ stupid. Wizarding Duels are noble and refined. They're what separate us from beasts."

"Because beasts would never do anything this stupid. They just kill each other and get it over with."

When the door creaked and opened. They heard several hissed voices. One more high-pitched and furious than the others.

When they turned the corner, Malfoy scowled. "I said bring a _second_ , Weasel. Not a third and fourth."

Ron frowned at Hermione. "They tagged along."

"I, uh, got stuck outside," Neville said, wincing, "forgot the new password."

Malfoy snorted and Harry elbowed him. "Why'd you bring the mud-urgh," Harry elbowed him again, "-uggle-born?"

"She wanted to stop us," Dean Thomas said. "Got stuck outside too."

"I _wanted_ you not to waste all those points I got for Gryffindor on this _nonsense_!" Hermione growled, scowling at Harry, then turned to the Gryffindors, with half an eye on the door behind them, as if waiting for a teacher to come bursting through. "We should _go back_. _Quickly_."

There was a worrying air of significance about her tone but if anybody else noticed it, they didn't say anything.

"Look, let's just get on with it," Ron said, gripping his wand in his hand and scowling at Malfoy.

"My pleasure, Weasel," Malfoy sneered.

Behind him, Harry rolled his eyes.

They stepped across from one another and bowed, then lifted their wand and...

Then a noise from the next room jolted them out of their position.

"Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner."

Filch.

Their eyes widened and Hermione made a choked noise in her throat, eyes wide with horror, as if she were immediately re-evaluating all her life choices.

Harry waved his hands to get their attention, then motioned for them to follow.

They tiptoed around the corner away from Filch.

Harry whispered a quick, " _Sera!_ " at the door by Filch and heard him rattle the now-locked entrance, while the large group slipped through to the exit.

Filch was swearing on the other side of the door and he could hear keys clanking and clattering on a chain. Going through the one by one.

Then one clicked in the lock and the group froze.

"They're in here somewhere," Filch muttered, "probably hiding."

Filch walked quickly, getting nearer and nearer as they crept, trying to walk quietly.

Then Neville, white faced with terror, looking as if he were about to be crucified or tortured, made a choked noise, as if being suffocated, and bolted, tripped, grabbed Ron by the waist and flung them both into a suit of armor.

The whole thing crashed to the floor. Clanging like a dozen bells. Enough to wake the dead.

"RUN!" Harry yelled and the six of them sprinted through the walkway, twisted into the corridor and bolted through the halls, ducking and running as fast as they could.

When they got far enough, they slowed. "I think we've lost him," Ron said, gasping for breath.

"I-- _told_ \--you!" Hermione hissed at him, teeth ground. "I _told_ you you'd get caught! Why didn't you just _listen_? Do you know how many points we could have lost, why didn't you just--"

Hermione was still tearing into Ron and Dean when a figure shot out a classroom and just ahead of them.

Peeves the Poltergeist, who squealed with glee, cackled as Ron tried to hush him, bribe him, reason with him. Then, the Poltergeist gleefully screamed: "STUDENTS OUT OF BED! STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!"

They dashed. Rushing through the corridor to a bolted door at the end. Ron jiggled it but it was shut. "This is it!" He cried, miserably, envisioning the end of days. "We're done for--"

" _Alohomora!_ " Harry hissed, then the door clicked open and they piled inside, just managing to get clear before Filch tore up to the corridor.

Harry, Ron and Hermione listened in through the door while Dean, Neville and Malfoy made similar choked noises of terror behind them.

"Which way did they go, Peeves?" Filch asked.

Peeves then proceeded to tease and torment the man until he gave up and left, while someone tugged at Harry's sleeve.

"P-Potter?"

"Yeah, I think the coast is clear," Harry told the sputtering Malfoy, "he must think this door is locked."

"Ce-Ce-Cerberus."

"What?" Harry frowned and turned.

A giant three-headed dog. With three sets of piercing, furious eyes and three sets of gnashing, drooling fangs.

Three, identical growls rumbling from three identical throats.

The stumbled out the door and ran. Pelting away like the thing would follow them.

The Gryffindors disappeared up the staircase while the Slytherins tumbled down it and neither Harry nor Malfoy stopped until they were squarely in front of the entrance to the common room, hissing the password desperately before fleeing inside.

Both of them collapsed onto the arm chairs and stayed very still while their breathing recovered.

"Still think that was a smart idea?" Harry asked.

"Who keeps a Cerberus in a _school full of children_?" Malfoy hissed.

"And behind a door that'll unlock with a second second year charm," Harry muttered. "I bet Snape's tea set has better security."

"Dumbledore is _insane_!" Malfoy growled. "My father will be hearing about this."

"Really?" Harry lifted a brow. "And you'll be telling him all about why you were breaking into that corridor, will you?"

Malfoy winced.

"Thought not."

"Well, someone's got to do _something_ ," Malfoy said. "Why would he be keeping that _thing_ around children?"

Harry suspected it had something to do with the trap door it had been standing on and the missing item in Vault 713.

#

When they arrived at the Dungeons corridor the next morning, outside the apparently locked potions classroom, Harry sidled up to Neville while the Gryffindor hunched in the corner, trying to look invisible.

"Hey," Harry said, "you alright?"

Neville gave him a significant look.

Harry nodded. "Me neither. I had a nightmare about being eaten."

Neville choked on a laugh. "Me too."

Malfoy and Zabini cautiously wandered over, acting natural while the Gryffindor's scowled beside them.

"Ciao, Longbottom," Zabini said. "How's the arm?"

"B-better," Neville murmured. "Er, thanks."

"Glad to hear it," Zabini leaned against the wall on the other side of him. "That Hooch is a menace. Can't believe they left her in charge of a class. Like Potter said, if she can't keep an eye on _one student_ , how the hell does she expect to look out for twenty?"

Neville blushed and his head dipped at that. "H-hadn't thought of it that way."

"Well, it's true," Malfoy insisted. "I don't know why they stick all the first years in classes of mixed ability anyway. It makes far more sense to separate the kids who have _no_ experience on a broom from the ones who do. When _I_ first learned for fly, father hired an expert instructor and cushioned a whole room for me. No wonder you were terrified."

Neville smiled a little at that. "Th-thanks," he murmured.

Harry smiled at his two Slytherin friends and gave them a single nod of thanks, then turned to Neville. "Partner with me in class?"

Neville's eyes went wide. "B-but... I'm useless. I'll screw up your grade."

Harry shrugged. "So? It'll give me a challenge." He smirked and Neville laughed.

"Well, uh... i-if you're sure."

"I am," Harry said.

He'd already spoken to the Slytherin's about it, knowing it would screw up the numbers. Malfoy had thrown a huge strop at first, pouting and insisting that Harry should be his partner in _every_ class because they made the best team. Harry managed to calm the boy down with a few well-timed compliments about how Malfoy could partner with the worst student in class and still come out with an EE or O, so it made more sense for the _supremely talented_ blonde help out Crabbe or Goyle to bring up Slytherin's overall potions grade.

Malfoy didn't quite understand Harry's motivations for helping out Neville but decided to let it go eventually, probably thinking that Harry had some hidden ulterior motive. But, he relented and allowed the switch-up after Harry promised that he wouldn't switch partners for their other classes.

Eventually, they worked out a system, which was why Lavender Brown got approached by Pansy and received a few compliments on her nails and to ask what beauty potion she'd used. By the time Snape had opened the classroom door, Pansy had got a dumbfounded Lavender to agree to partner with her, to even out the numbers.

Snape stared suspiciously at the unprecedented co-mingling of Houses that was taking place in the hall, lifted a curious brow at his snakes and stalked back inside.

Hermione Granger seemed a little relieved to see Neville beside Harry, ready to drag his grade down below her own but still did all of the brewing while her irritated partner, Patil, glared at her for hogging the workload.

They were making the Forgetfulness Potion. Starting with the base. Harry added the two drops of Lethe River water and got Neville to count the twenty seconds while it sat on the heat. Then Harry took it off and Neville nervously added the Valerian sprigs and stirred three times clockwise. Harry waved his wand, since Neville had insisted it was for the best, and they set it on the heat for the next three quarters of an hour, when they'd begin stage two.

Snape wandered over to inspect. "Good work," he said, "now turn to page 265 in your textbook and wait for rest of the class to catch up."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, while Neville seemed to slump with relief at having not messed up yet.

The Professor slid away to inspect the other bases and insult students who'd gotten it _"utterly wrong"_.

Neville shifted away from the cauldron like he was frightened of knocking it over. "Thanks," he murmured, "I would have messed up already if you hadn't been here."

"Don't worry about it," Harry whispered, "and you should give yourself more credit."

Neville snorted. "No, Harry. My Gran was right about that much. I'm clumsy and I'm no good at this stuff. Any stuff, really. Other than Herbology."

Harry peered at the boy. "Have you ever heard of 'Self-Fulfilling Prophecy'?"

Neville stared at him. "Gran says that all prophecies are self-fulfilling."

Harry blinked at that. "Good to know, but I didn't mean actual prophecies. It's a Muggle phrase. It means... someone tells you that you're a particular way and you believe it, so it starts to become true." He opened his book on the right page. "So, lets say someone tells you you're, I dunno, a dunderhead and you're no good at magic. And you believe it, so you get nervous whenever you're about to cast a spell and you mess up. Then, when you do mess up, instead of telling yourself 'oh well, I'll figure out what I did wrong and try again', you see it as proof you're no good at it, give up, and never get any better."

Harry didn't bother mentioning the influence of Neville's general terror-levels of panic was no doubt having on his magic. Heightened emotional states had a huge impact on the control of magic. But he wouldn't help calm the boy down by mentioning it. The poor Gryffindor might just end up panicking about panicking.

Neville's eyes went wide at that, his mouth bobbing open as a realization hit. "I... I'd never thought about it like that."

"You've probably only messed up in the first potions class because you were nervous and forgot to re-read the instructions to check what to do. Don't decide based on that one little mistake that you're completely useless. You've barely even studied potions yet."

Neville smiled a little at that, while his eyes glittered. "Yeah?"

Harry nodded. "Give yourself a chance, Nev. Don't give up hope because of one mistake. Everyone makes mistakes. That's how we learn."

Neville barely held back a laugh at that. "Well then, if mistakes are how we learn, I must be the smartest person in class."

Harry grinned at him. "Exactly."

Neville chuckled and pulled out his notebook.

"If you want my advice," Harry said, pointing to the open page in his notebook where he'd meticulously copied down Snape's directions, "write down the instructions on the board when Snape starts the class. Word for word. It'll help you remember them."

Neville nodded studiously, then grabbed his quill and began to write out the instructions, word for word. He paused after he was finished, chewing his lip. "Uh, Harry," he said, staring at his notebook. "Why did we only stir clockwise? Why does the direction matter?"

"Because clockwise, or deisul, is in the direction the earth's turns. Magical currents move the same direction. So, when you mix a potion in the direction of Magic's natural state, it produces no resistance. But, if you go you go counter-clockwise, or widdershins, goes against the natural flow of magic, and so..."

"Produces resistance," Neville finished aloud. "Like... static?"

"Something like it, yeah," Harry said. "It's the same when you are casting a spell. Getting the right combination of movements that works with and against the natural flow of magic can be the difference between one spell or a completely different one."

Neville's eyes widened as the point hit home. "That makes... sense," he whispered. "Nobody's ever explained that to me before. But, now it makes sense."

Harry smiled. "I'd recommend you take a look at _Magical Theory_ by Waffling, but be prepared not to understand three quarters of what he's talking about. I'm happy to translate when you need it."

Neville smiled at him. "Thanks, Harry."

Snape took them through a theory lesson while they waited for the bases to brew, then started another question and answer session, where a few students other than Harry and Hermione got a chance to answer, despite Hermione's hand being up the entire time.

"Which magical fauna is considered the bane of trolls?" Snape asked the class.

Hermione's hand shot up, once again, desperately standing up in her seat to get the man's attention.

Slowly, beside Harry, Neville lifted a hand. Snape spotted the boy and lifted a brow. "Longbottom."

Neville cleared his throat. "Uh, Puffapods, sir. Trolls are allergic to them."

"Precisely," Snape said. "Two points to Gryffindor. I believe it is time for stage two of your Forgetfulness Potions. Begin."

They split the work between them, Neville painstakingly measured out the ingredients for the mortar, checking his notes a dozen or so times. When the herbs and mistletoe berries were added, Harry crushed them with the pestle into a medium-fine powder. He quietly explained to Neville the difference between medium-fine and fine before they continued.

Neville nervously added two pinches, one shaking hand hovering beneath the other, to catch any sprinkles that fell while he was transferring them. Then, Harry stirred the mixture five times anti-clockwise and waved his wand.

When Snape wandered over to inspect, Neville inhaled sharply and didn't appear to breathe again until Snape straightened and said, "Outstanding work, Mr Potter," then paused and nodded, "and Mr Longbottom. Five points to Gryffindor and five to Slytherin, and another point each for genuine co-operation," then he glanced at Hermione, "some students don't seem to know the meaning of the phrase _'partnered work'_."

Hermione blushed bright purple and Patil shot her a dirty look from where she was sitting in silence with arms folded.

Neville blushed with a smile, then peered at Harry teary eyed while Snape walked away. "Thank you," he mouthed silently.

Harry shrugged and smiled back.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to say an absolutely enormous thank you to everyone who has commented, subscribed or sent kudos. 
> 
> It's my first time posting my fanfiction online and your reaction has made me wonder why I didn't do it years ago. I hope you liked the chapter and that you enjoy what's coming up next...
> 
> ❤️❤️❤️


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING!
> 
> Attention dear readers, this is where the Graphic Depictions of Violence warning starts to rear its head. In the next few chapters I will start showing some past memories of Severus's Death Eater days and the raid on the Muggle village. As you can imagine, some of them are gonna involve violence, mostly by other characters. (Also, a creepy Voldemort scene or two.)
> 
> I don't like to depict violence for the sake of violence, but it is important to the plot for this event to be shown and I didn't want to cut back on too much. I hope it comes across okay.

They were walking to the Great Hall for lunch when he heard someone yell behind him, "Harry! Wait up!"

He turned to see Ron Weasley rushing toward him. Malfoy sneered and folded his arms, standing beside Harry like a sentinel. "What do you want, _Weasel_?" Malfoy snarled.

"None of your business, _Malfoy_ ," Ron spat back, then turned to Harry. "Do you have a minute, mate? In private."

Harry nodded. With a look, Malfoy and the others reluctantly left him to it.

"What's up?" Harry asked.

"Just..." Ron shrugged and cleared his throat. "That was nuts yesterday, right? I mean, _bloody hell_."

"Yeah," Harry said, trying to stay non-committal.

"Well, uh," Ron cleared his throat, "what's up with you and Neville, by the way?"

"He's my friend," Harry said.

"Oh, uh, really?"

"Yeah," Harry folded his arms. "We have some things in common. Why? You got a problem with Gryffindors being friends with Slytherins?"

"No! Course not!" Ron barked, then winced. "Look, sorry I ain't been saying hi, or whatever, I just, you know... I guess it was a surprise and all... the... _Slytherin_ thing."

"Yeah, sure," Harry said. "No worries."

"I am worried about you, though," Ron said, swallowing hard, "with all this stuff with... you know, Snape. I don't want you getting hurt."

Harry nodded. "I've heard the rumors, too."

"They ain't just rumors, mate," Ron whispered, stepping closer, "he's a Death Eater."

" _Was_ a Death Eater," Harry corrected. "He turned spy. Dumbledore said so himself in front of the entire Wizengamot."

"He only turned spy in the end," Ron said, "and probably only to hedge his bets, you know. He _made_ a lot of the spells the Death Eaters used, you know? And he was totally devoted to You-Know-Who."

"If he is that bad then why did Dumbledore hire him to look after a bunch of teenagers," Harry said, frowning.

Ron choked on his words at that, frowning as he tried to think of a reasonable excuse. "Uh, well," he stammered, "he must've wanted to keep an eye on him."

Harry hummed.

"Look," Ron lowered his voice again, "I know you must want family, after all this time. And I can see why you'd like to think Snape could be that for you but... he killed people, Harry. Tortured them. And some of the Death Eaters did stuff to... you know... to women. What if he--"

" _Stop_ ," Harry said it quietly, but it dripped with an authority and venom that made Ron shudder.

The Gryffindor hesitated, then steeled himself, like he was trying to gather up the courage to do what needed to be done.

"N-no, I n-need you to listen, Harry," Ron said, swallowing hard. "This is important."

"You _really_ need to shut your mouth now, Ron," Harry said, slowly reaching for his wand and gripping it tight.

"L-Lily would _never_ have cheated on James, especially not for a Death Eater. So, it might not have been con-consensual--"

Harry whipped out his wand and stabbed it at the boy's throat. "Shut your _fucking mouth_."

Ron's eyes widened and his mouth fell open. He froze, utterly silent and slowly paling to a sickening white, while Harry breathed and occluded, desperately trying to clear his mind, to fold away the fury. A sickening nausea roiled in his throat.

He really wanted to hex the stupid bloody Gryffindor with something vicious, something he'd picked up in _Curses and Counter-Curses_ , that would leave the boy bedridden for the rest of the day.

His mouth itched to utter the incantation, his hands shaking with fury. His hand burning with the urge to cast a hex. But Harry forced himself to occlude, instead.

If he made Ron into an enemy, the stupid boy might spread that crap around Gryffindor in retaliation. And when he thought about the words Ron had uttered, the actual _phrasing_ of it, a slow realization flooded him.

Slowly, Harry lowered his wand, glaring at the boy. "If you _dare_ start spreading disgusting crap like that around, I will _ruin_ you. Understand? _Ruin you_."

Ron swallowed and slowly nodded. His hands shivering. Eyes wide.

Harry turned and walked away. His mind reeling.

He knew it was lies. He could tell that much from the reverent way Snape talked about his mother. The way he'd helped people, even through his worst mistakes. Even when he'd done despicable things, he always held Harry's mother in his heart, cherished her lost friendship. Missed her _'like a limb'_.

He wouldn't have hurt her like that, so that wasn't the hideous realization that made Harry's mind reel.

When shocked him most, was the words Ron had used. Referring to his mother and father as 'Lily' and 'James'. Using a word like 'consensual'. Something Harry doubted Ron would think to use without prompting.

 _Scripted_ , Harry realized. _Like someone told him what to say._

Harry turned it over and over in his mind all through lunch, watching the Head Table cautiously out the corner of his eye.

#

Minerva sat beside him during dinner, looking drained. Pale and worn, as if someone had bled her half-dry.

"Rough day?" Severus asked, helping himself to a lamb steak and the varied selection of vegetables he'd managed to get added to the tables. He was grateful to see his snakes had taken to them as much as Harry had.

"You could say that," Minerva huffed. "I received a formal complaint about favoritism in your class."

"Already?" Severus asked. "I thought they'd hold out for another week, at least."

"Very amusing," Minerva rolled her eyes. "The student insisted that her potion was brewed to the same quality as her Slytherin counterpart's, but you awarded him points but none for her."

"Ah, Miss Granger, I presume." Severus rolled his eyes.

"I thought you'd know better than to allow yourself to fall foul of such blatant favoritism, Severus. Especially with the current state of the rumor mill."

"No, Minerva," Severus said. "No favoritism. What Miss Granger has failed to tell you is that she received no points because, though the work was _in pairs_ , she refused to allow her partner to contribute for fear it would reduce the quality of her potion. Thus robbing her partner of valuable brewing experience. Meanwhile, Mr Potter partnered with the _worst_ student in class, divided up the work fairly and coached the boy through the stages he was uncertain of."

"He did?" Minerva's brows lifted.

"Yes," Severus said, "and I awarded equal points to Mr Longbottom for his outstanding efforts too. So I _dare_ you to still call me prejudice."

Minerva startled at that. " _Neville Longbottom_ brewed an outstanding potion, in _your_ class?"

"He did," Severus pierced a broccoli stem, "Mr Potter seemed to be coaching him a little. I overheard a small pep-talk about 'Self-Fulfilling Prophecies'."

"All prophecies are self-fulfilling," she said by default, then paled as his words sank in, "he doesn't know about..."

"No," Severus stopped her. "It is a Muggle phrase for a phenomena when someone is told they are a failure so often they start to believe it, and so they unknowingly cause it to become true."

Minerva blinked. "I'd not heard of that, but it certainly seems accurate enough."

Severus hummed and nodded. "Speaking of a certain Gryffindor..."

"I've set up a meeting, Saturday afternoon," Minerva muttered under her breath. "At Gringotts. I'd rather appreciate some coaching if you have time."

"I'll meet you in your office, tomorrow after breakfast."

"Thank you, Severus," Minerva sighed in relief.

He nodded once and began his meal, grateful when she allowed him to eat in silence. Quirrell often seated himself beside Severus, asking incessant questions and cautiously pressing for details on Harry.

It was more than frustrating. It had quickly slipped into deeply worrying, especially when he'd spotted the teacher lingering around the forbidden third floor corridor.

He didn't trust the man. He'd always been suspicious. Just quiet enough and timid enough that people didn't pay attention. But when he'd returned to Hogwarts after the year abroad, he'd returned with that old stutter of his. And that absurd turban.

Severus knew what a real stutter sounded like. The man was faking. And Severus wasn't sure he would like the reason of why.

When Severus finished his meal, stood and said a polite farewell to Minerva before fleeing to the solitude of his office.

It was another fifteen minutes before Harry knocked on the door.

"Enter," he called and the boy swept in, then spotted the chocolate soufflé Severus was eating his way through.

"So that's why you didn't stick around for dessert," Harry smirked as he closed the door and stepped over to the seat on the other side of Severus's desk. "Prefer Jiffy's?"

"Undoubtedly," Severus said. "The school desserts are sickeningly sweet. I've always been more of a fan of dark chocolate. Something with a little bitterness better suits my palate."

Harry smirked at that and shook his head. "That doesn't surprise me."

"Would you care for one?" Severus asked.

"Yes, please," Harry grinned.

"Jiffy?" Severus called and a dessert and spoon popped on the other side of his desk.

Harry beamed and leaned forward. "Best detention ever."

Severus smirked and they ate together in silence for a while. He found himself intrigued to note that Harry, like him, didn't care for idle chatter while he ate. Especially when eating something worthy of his full attention and appreciation.

"That was fantastic," Harry sighed as the dishes popped away. "Thanks, Jiffy." He called aloud.

"I'm sure she's just grateful to get a chance to help. She's been rather lacking in work at the moment."

"So she wrote," Harry said, "I was thinking of getting her a present or something. An embroidery kit or knitting stuff."

"I suppose it might give her something to do," Severus said. "I'll buy them for her."

"You will?" Harry smiled.

"Yes," Severus said. "There's only so many times she can clean our homes top to bottom until she's driven mad. Maybe I'll give her some cloth to fashion into new robes."

"Isn't giving clothing, you know, like freeing her?"

"Clothing, yes. Cloth, no. Most Wizards simply hand over pillowcases now, but there was a period of time where it was customary to grant House Elves new cloth to fashion into clothes at least once a year. It was considered a very poor household indeed that did not have a tidy and well-groomed House Elf, capable of sewing their own clothes."

Harry's eyes widened at that. "Really? Maybe I should hint at that to Malfoy. His House Elf was looking... unwell."

"Yes," Severus breathed, "he was. But I'd avoid the topic, if I were you. It would be far too easy for him to take offense."

Harry sighed and nodded. "Listen, there's... There's some stuff I need to tell you. But, uh, you're gonna get mad."

Severus raised a brow. "Mad with you or mad with someone else."

"Uh, both."

Severus hummed.

"Can you, uh, promise not to give anyone detention for this if I tell you? Keep it secret. Pretend you never heard it and find some... _other_ way to get back at them?"

"I suppose," Severus said. "I'll begin occluding. Proceed at your leisure."

Harry swallowed and nodded. "Okay, uh, first," he licked his lips, "Malfoy and Ron Weasley arranged a Wizards Duel last night."

Severus rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, I know," Harry winced, then blushed, "it was stupid. He made me his second and I went along. A few people arrived with Ron, because there was a mix up. But, anyway, Filch arrived and we ran, trying to get away. We... We ended up in the forbidden third floor corridor."

Severus straightened.

"Were fine!" Harry lifted his hands. "We got out without being hurt, but..." Harry frowned suddenly, "I only needed to use a Alohomora to get in. That just... doesn't seem secure, considering what is inside."

Severus hesitated. "What do you mean?" He frowned. "What was inside? I'm assuming you don't mean the... _Artifact_ that Dumbledore is hiding."

Harry's eyes widened. "You... don't know?"

Severus shook his head. "The Headmaster has never been particularly forthcoming with his plots."

"Oh," Harry swallowed. "Uh, well," he winced, "there's a Cerberus."

Severus blinked. "A... A Cerberus?"

Harry nodded.

"There is a giant, three headed-dog lurking within a school full of children, hidden only by a single, _unwarded_ door."

Harry slowly nodded.

Severus's head fell into his hands and he closed his eyes, breathing while he desperately occluded.

_I will not murder Albus Dumbledore._

_I will not murder Albus Dumbledore._

_I will not murder Albus Dumbledore._

He took another deep breath and looked up. "Continue."

Harry chewed his lip and nodded. "O-okay, well, um," he looked down, "so, that happened, but we were fine. And then, after class today, Ron came up to me. Said he was worried about me. About... me getting my hopes up with you. Went on about the Death Eater thing, the creating dark spells. But..." Harry swallowed, hard, "there was one thing he said that... made me think he was coached."

"Coached?" Severus lifted a brow. "You think someone put words in his mouth?"

Harry nodded. "He called mum and dad 'Lily' and 'James'. That felt more like..."

"Dumbledore," Severus sighed. "I see. So that is why he was being so generous about _allowing_ me to seek a relationship with you, _if_ you wished it." Severus cleared his mind again and nodded. "Very well, what did Mr Weasley say, exactly, that caught your eye?"

Harry fell silent. Pursed his lips like he was trying to keep the words in.

Severus's spine tingled with a terrible foreboding.

" _What_ did he say?" Severus repeated.

Harry hesitated another moment. "I know its not true. I want you to know that first. I know you'd rather have died than do that. But--"

"Harry," Severus said, firm.

Harry swallowed. "Consensual," he breathed. "He used the word consensual."

Severus felt sick.

 _I should murder that old man,_ Severus thought to himself. _For the good of us all, for Harry, I should poison him. Poison him with something slow and agonizing._

Severus closed his eyes.

To have a mere child, in his stead, accuse Severus of _rape_ , to Severus's _own child_. There was a special place in Hades for those kinds of people.

What made it worse, what made it so sickening he could barely breathe, was that it was Severus's worst fear. It was what kept him from plunging into the memory of that raid, looking for inconsistencies. Looking for the buried truth.

The fear that he'd betrayed Lily.

Betrayed her in the worst possible way he ever could.

Then obliviated himself so he didn't have to live with what he'd done.

Severus clutched his hands on the desk and breathed, barely noticing how much he was shivering until he felt Harry's steady hand on his back.

He looked up into Harry's kind green eyes.

"You didn't do it," the boy said, with a certainty that made Severus's throat burn.

"Y-you don't know that," Severus choked.

"I do," Harry whispered. "I do know. Because..." He paused, then reached for Severus's hand and squeezed, "even if you were capable of sinking low enough to betray her like that... I think... I think you would have killed yourself for doing it."

Severus felt tears slip free as Harry held his hand, squeezing tight. Severus wrapped his around Harry's hand in turn, clutching for dear life while he silently begged to all the gods that would listen that the boy was right.

_Please._

_Please._

_Please._

#

After promising to help Neville out with some Magical Theory and Potions revision, Harry started spending his afternoons after class in the Library, either doing homework or quietly explaining stuff to his Gryffindor friend when he got stuck.

The rest of the Slytherin's joined them more often than not, easily accepting Neville into their group when they realized the he was an outcast in Gryffindor. It probably helped a bit that he was from a well-respected pure-blood family, but Harry tried not to think too much on that.

Neville started reading _Magical Theory_ by Waffling, as Harry had recommended, determinedly keeping a dictionary next to him and getting clarification off Harry when something didn't make sense.

He even started to take an interest in the subject when he realized it explained some of the variables with Herbology class. Why some times of the moon cycle were more significant than others and why magical plants grew better on some spots when they didn't have better soil or superior growing conditions.

"You know," Neville whispered to Pansy one day when they were seated at the table, "a lot of this stuff reminds me of, you know, the old holidays."

The girl straightened at that. "It does?"

"Well, yeah," Neville said, pointing to a passage in the text, "he clearly says that certain points in the year have magical surges because of their position around the sun. He's subtle about it, but..."

The Slytherin's eyes all widened eagerly. "Do you..." Malfoy lifted a brow. "Do you know much about the old holidays?"

Neville winced and shook his head. "My Great Aunt Enid does, I think. She talked about it with me a few times, but my Gran shut that down quick. She calls it _Dark Arts_ and says some pretty nasty stuff about anyone who even _talks_ about the old celebrations. So, we always celebrated the Christian versions." The Slytherin's seemed rather disappointed by that announcement, then Neville continued. "But she said a lot of hateful nonsense when I was growing up, so I recon I should take it all with a pinch of salt."

Zabini smirked at that. "Good for you, Longbottom."

Neville blushed a little.

"What are the 'old holidays'?" Harry asked.

The table startled at that. "Oh, of course you wouldn't know," Pansy said. "I forget sometimes that you're... you know..."

"Muggle-raised?" Harry asked with a smirk. "Glad to hear I'm fitting in."

"The old holidays were those celebrated by our ancestors, before witch hunts and Muggle prejudices forced them into isolation," Daphne explained. "Samhain, Yule, Ostara, you know... the _original_ Wizarding celebrations."

"And then, of course," Malfoy sneered, "the Muggle-loving Ministry decided it was _'Dark Arts'_ and restricted any _hint_ of a traditional holidays until most were forced to stop the old celebrations altogether or go underground."

"They're illegal?" Harry frowned.

Neville nodded. "For about a hundred years now."

"Longer," Pansy said. "They might have been legal before then, but they were terrorizing practitioners for _at least_ another century before that. Some ended up in prison."

Neville's eyes widened. "I... I never heard about that."

Theodore Nott leaned forward, just barely looking up from his book. "You won't. They don't talk about it. Just like they destroy all the books they can find on the old ways."

A realization hit Harry. "They're classified as Dark Artifacts. So they'll be taken, too, if the Minister gets his new Muggle Protection Act raids through."

The table looked up at that. "You read about that?" Zabini asked.

Harry nodded. "I mean, they made it seem like nothing, just a way to protect muggles, but it's obviously a way of pushing through warrants on the estates of suspected dark families. Sounds like they've been trying to do that for over a decade."

Malfoy nodded, staring at him curiously. "Well noted," he said. "It's also a blatant money grab and a way of regulating knowledge."

"They wouldn't seriously stick people in Azkaban for having books on the old holidays, would they?" Neville asked. "I mean... they're just looking for the really awful Dark Arts stuff."

Zabini lifted a brow at the boy. "No, Longbottom. They're looking for _excuses_ to stick people in that hellhole. And they're lining their pockets while they do it. You know what happens to cursed artifacts that are seized by the Ministry? They don't destroy them. They get a team of curse-breakers to fix them up and then sell them off at international auctions."

Neville's eyes widened. "That--that's so..."

"Yes," Pansy said. "And people wonder why, after hundreds of years of animosity, being hunted down by the Ministry and terrorized for their beliefs, the traditional families were enticed in when someone preached they'd bring an end to it. _That's_ why."

Neville paled, then swallowed and straightened. "I'd rather not talk about that."

Pansy winced and her cheeks pinked. "Oh, yes, uh, sorry."

Neville nodded and went back to his book.

Harry cleared his throat and stood up. "Just going to grab something," he whispered to Neville, checking he wasn't too nervous about being left alone after that little awkward conversation.

The boy smiled at him and nodded. "Okay," he said.

Apparently the Gryffindor was made of stronger stuff than Harry expected, because he didn't seem very bothered by it.

Harry walked over to the Library catalogue and began to flick through the cards for the one he wanted, _Greatest Potioneers of the 17_ _th_ _Century_. He wandered through the stacks, looking for the right spot when he saw Hermione.

The girl had hidden herself at the back of the library with a genuine _mountain_ of books. Several giant towers of them walled her in while she hunched over, scratching away at parchment.

Harry sighed and walked over to the spot where his book should have been shelved, but it wasn't there. Neither was half the shelf, in fact. As if someone had picked them all up and hoarded them onto their desk.

Harry's shoulders sagged and he closed his eyes, occluding before he turned with his best friendly smile and walked over to Hermione's desk.

"Hey, Hermione," Harry said.

The girl jerked, eyes wide, then her brows furrowed. She began rolling up her three foot essay as if he'd try and plagiarize it. "What do _you_ want?"

"Uh, well, I was wondering if you had a copy of _Greatest Potioneers of the 17_ _th_ _Century_ there with you. It's not on the shelf."

Hermione scowled at him. "I'm using it."

"Alright, well, when you're finished I'll be on the table over--"

"I'm checking it out of the library, actually," Hermione said, nose lifted.

"Oh?" Harry said, swallowing down the urge to let his brow lift in the expression that Zabini had dubbed _'The Eyebrow of Doom'_. "Well, I just need to quickly check a reference for my Potions essay. I wanted to add an anecdote about the Potioneer who invented the draught, but I can't remember the details. I'll only need it for twenty minutes. Would you be able to lend it to me for a bit?"

"No," Hermione folded her arms, seeming smug.

Harry pointedly did not let his facial muscles so much as twitch. "Why not?"

Hermione smirked. "I'm not _helping_ you steal the top spot. You've already got it easy with Snape giving you special privileges. You'll get no help from me."

"Help?" Harry frowned. "You think allowing other students _fair_ access to the library collection is _help_?" The girl's cheeks pinked. "And as far as _special privileges_ go, getting points for not hoarding all the work to myself because I don't think anybody is as _exceptional_ and _talented_ as I am is not a special privilege."

The girl's whole face turned red. "That--I'm not like that!"

"Aren't you?" Harry said, then _'The Eyebrow of Doom'_ finally lifted. "You're _convinced_ that I'm trying to deliberately show you up, aren't you? That I'm trying to _steal_ the top spot in school from under your feet."

"Well, you are!" Hermione cried.

"No, Hermione," Harry said, folding his arms, "there's a difference between wanting to _do_ your best, and wanting to _be_ the best."

Hermione's mouth opened and she choked. "I--You--Y-you're the same!"

"No," Harry said. "I really don't care if you do better than me in class, because I have better things to do than worry about grades. I'm here to learn the best I can and I judge myself by my _own_ definitions of success. So, even if I got marked down on every subject on a technicality, I wouldn't care, so long as I do well by my own definitions. You," Harry sneered, "you just want to feel _superior_ to everyone else. Be the smartest, best student, most loved by all the teachers and, apparently, you're willing to tread on everyone else to get there. You sound more Slytherin than me, right now."

The girl purpled. "Th-that's not true! I am not!"

"Really?" Harry asked, folding his arms. "So you didn't tip off Filch to find us that night?" He asked. Hermione choked and several gasps behind Harry tipped him off to the fact the Slytherin's had crept over to listen in. "You didn't try to get us caught and robbed of House points? That's not why you were so determined to get Ron and Dean to stay behind?"

Hermione suddenly became very pale. Eyes wide and teary. She didn't say anything.

"Thought so," Harry said, then wandered over to her haul of books and found _Greatest Potioneers of the 17_ _th_ _Century._ After he pulled it out he gave her rolled up potions essay a derisive look. "A word of advice. When Snape says twelve inches, he means _twelve inches_. Give him a three foot essay and he'll just mark you down for wasting his time."

Then he turned on his heel and stalked back to the table. The other Slytherins scrabbled into places with flushed cheeks.

After a little while, Malfoy finally spoke. "I can't believe that little know-it-all tried to set us up."

Harry smirked. "And she had the same idea you did."

Malfoy paled. "Oh, Merlin," he whispered, utterly horrified, "I'm... _predictable_."

Harry snorted and went back to reading.

#

Harry didn't get much time alone with Neville now that the other Slytherins were hanging around, so the boy didn't get around to telling him the news until the Friday potions class.

"They found someone already?" Harry repeated, shocked. "That was quick."

"Yeah," Neville shrugged, "my Gran's still refusing to give up custody but, well, the Goblins are taking care of it so I don't think she'll hold out 'til summer."

Harry snorted. "No, I don't think so. So, who's the possible Guardian?"

Neville smiled. "One of my mum and dad's old Auror friends. Kingsley Shacklebot. He was a little further down the list of possibilities but, well, a lot of options are either dead or out of the country. I've not met him yet, but McGonagall knows him. He sounds nice. He accepted the offer to take Guardianship really fast, too."

"That's great, Neville," Harry said. "Congratulations."

Neville smiled. "I've thought about sending him a letter, you know. Say hello. But... I'm a little nervous."

"You should do it," Harry said. "Go for it. You're a Gryffindor, after all."

Neville chuckled.

Snape came over shortly after and awarded their potion an 'exceeds expectations', with a point each.

After they separated for lunch, the Slytherin's started prodding for information, having apparently listened in to every word like the nosy bastards they were.

"So... what's this about Guardianship?" Pansy asked, piercing a vegetable on her plate.

"None of your business," Harry said.

"Does Dumbledore know?" Malfoy asked.

"Haven't a clue."

"Why are they going through the Goblins?" Zabini asked.

"None of your business. Stop asking questions."

Zabini scoffed at him and saluted, "Yes, Professor Snape."

Harry rolled his eyes.

"He's alright, isn't he?" Daphne asked, with some genuine concern in her eyes.

Harry hesitated. "He's... better."

The rest of the table seemed to take that as the most they were going to get and changed the subject.

#

Severus had forgotten how young he was back then. Fresh-faced as a babe. Nineteen years old. An adult in name only. He'd only just stepped out into the world, and he was already ruining it.

Beside the older Death Eaters, the Dark Lord's innermost circle, all mingling with their masks in hand, Severus looked like a child who'd borrowed his grandfather's cloak.

Lucius stood beside him, only seeming older than Severus because of his stature and poise. No sign of hesitation or fear in his gait. Now, looking back, from the clarity of his pensieve, Severus wondered how much of it was bravado.

"Are you sure you're ready?" Lucius asked.

The present Severus walked around the memory, observing his younger self shiver, pupils dilated from weeks of 'Dark Arts training'. He could feel the hum of it, even from the memory. Almost taste it in the air.

The brat nodded, shifting in place like something prickled incessantly at his skin.

Severus remembered that feeling. Being so delirious on the dark that he could feel it tingling along his spine, across his fingers. Itching through him. Like the dark was goading him into plunging deeper into it.

He'd long since become numbed to that. Only the truly heinous spells had this effect on him anymore, and never as addictively as this.

"I'm ready," his younger self said, and _Merlin_ even his _voice_ was adolescent. Barely even a whisper of the dulcet tones it would one day become. Shivering with the anxiety to please.

Lucius seemed less certain, but then his eye fell on the figure approaching behind them. He nudged Severus and bowed low, prostrate on the floor with the rest of them, the boy hastened to do the same.

"Up, Severus," the Dark Lord whispered, voice honeyed with false affection and pride. Severus slowly rose, standing straight and making a convincing attempt at confidence, but he remembered the mix of terror and awe that mixed whenever the Dark Lord acknowledged him.

The man's features were starting to degrade by then. It would grow still worse in the two years yet to come, but back then there was still a lingering phantom of the handsome man this monster had once been.

The Dark Lord smiled proudly at Severus and touched his cheek. Like a father sending his dearest son to school.

It sickened Severus to see it. The manipulation.

The monster knew what Severus longed for, more than anything. What he craved most of all, in his heart.

Love.

And he manufactured it to con Severus into absolute subservience. Into obedience. Into becoming a follower that would die for him.

And he fell for it.

Hook, line and sinker.

Young and naïve.

"You are ready, Severus," he said, like he was bestowing a gift upon him, then lifted the mask in his other hand and set it upon Severus's face. Around him, he could see the other Death Eaters bristle with envy. Bellatrix most of all. "You know what you must do, today. How you must earn your place in my highest ranks."

"Yes, my Lord," Severus dipped his head and held a hand upon his heart. "It will be an honor."

The Dark Lord set one hand upon Severus's shoulder and his smile fell. "Do not disappoint me, Severus."

The boy looked up. "Never, my Lord."

He'd believed it, back then. Truly meant it. With a certainty that only a child feels. Absolute and unthinking.

 _"Imbecile_ ," Severus hissed, watching that memory of himself, his stomach broiled at the thought of what was about to come.

When the Dark Lord nodded and stepped away, Lucius moved forward to take Severus's arm.

He had no Dark Mark then, not for another few hours, so he could not follow the call of the Mark, the way the other Death Eaters could.

He knew nothing about where they were going and wouldn't for another few years, when he looked back over the events that had shaped his life. Back then, it was just another Muggle town where Muggle-born and half-blood _'filth'_ hid away.

The Death Eaters swept up in black smoke and Severus disappeared with it.

They arrived in a whorl of black. Walking about an old square, surrounded by houses on all sides, were three Muggles. Two screamed and one fled. None of them escaped.

One was flipped up by their ankle, hanging mid-air while a vicious spell whipped him.

Another was caught with an Avada, quick and merciful.

The last was not so lucky.

Crucio.

Hit again and again while the Death Eaters rushed to the houses surrounding. The Muggle's screams of pain rang out like a chiming bell.

Lucius grabbed Severus by the arm and dragged him to number six. There was a flower-bed outside, beside a Muggle garden gnome, with blooming aconite and asphodel surrounded by a warded fence.

Lucius took the lead, unlocking the door and slamming inside. Their target was already half-way down the stairs when they broke in, and sneered when he spotted them. He had a black night robe and mousy brown hair licked with silver.

" _Stupefy!_ " The old potioneer yelled, but it bounced off Lucius's shields as if he'd cast nothing at all. " _Incarcerus! Petrificus Totalum!_ "

The man dashed for the exit as he cast. He was buying himself time. Knowing he was outmatched. He simply kept them on the defensive, so they could not cut him down where he stood.

Severus lifted his wand and concentrated, trying to well up the fury and dispassion within. Tried to rid himself of any remaining mercy and humanity. His hand was shaking as it rose.

" _Avada Kedavara!_ "

The older man flinched. There was a faint blink of green light from Severus's wand.

Then nothing.

A silence fell as the implication hit.

He'd failed.

The older man's hesitation was what cost him. He gazed up at Severus as he realized what had happened, and Lucius dropped his shield to cast.

" _AVADA KEDAVARA!_ "

Bright green light, emerald and deadly, hit their target with full force.

He was dead before he hit the floor. Soul departed before he could even flinch.

Severus's hands were shivering as Lucius whirled on him and stabbed his wand in the boy's chest.

"I _told_ you," Lucius snarled, "I _said_ you weren't ready."

"I--I am."

Lucius scoffed and twirled away. "I won't lie for you. You didn't kill the man, but we can leave out _why_. But you've got to find someone else tonight, or..."

There was a shivering breath behind Severus's mask, his shaking hand clenched around his wand. "Okay," he whispered. "Thank you."

"Get out," Lucius growled. "I'll grab what we need."

Severus nodded and twirled away, out the door.

When he stepped through it, it was like walking into Hades.

He'd almost forgotten, as he watched the memory play out in sickening detail, what burning flesh smelled like.

Avery Junior loved to conjure Fiendfire. To chase his victims with it through their homes. Severus witnessed it, as the war drew on, but this was the first time he'd seen it.

Heard it.

Smelled it.

The screams. The stink of charred plastic and chipboard. The stench of death and dark, twisting through the air.

Smoke and magic.

He watched himself stumble, hand clutching for the wall of the house as he saw a Death Eater chase a woman into the square, then hit her with a cutting curse that knocked her to the ground. Then cast a Crucio.

Severus remembered the fleeting urge to help her that he'd had to stamp down. And the sense of failure that welled in its place, for failing to destroy all his remaining mercy for these so-called _'beasts_ '.

He wanted to Crucio the frail fool of a boy that he'd once been. Tie him up where he stood, trembling, to prevent what he'd soon become.

But he couldn't, so he watched while the boy staggered down the pathway, through the torrent of pain and panic, while men, women and children fled and screamed, so desperate to run they barely noticed him when they rushed past.

He walked through the square, clutching his wand, lifting it, once or twice, with a shivering hand, to cast a spell and lacking the nerve.

He had forgotten about this. Just how man missed chances he'd had. How many Muggles raced past him. How many time he began to cast a Crucio or a Killing Curse and stopped. Or failed.

His quaking grew more pathetic as time went. His failure and dread more and more despicable.

He walked to the edge of the square, where a side-alley led behind.

Then something changed.

Like someone grabbed the memory by its arm and twisted it.

Then, he was running.

 _"Prohibere."_ Severus commanded the memory and it halted.

He looked around.

The center of the square.

He was no longer at the edge, walking towards the side-alley, but in the center. Running past the bodies of the dead and mutilated. Running directly across to a house opposite. The house of the Muggle he'd killed.

Severus licked his lips and his heart picked up.

Obliviated.

There was a section missing. A section of memory gone.

 _"Revertere,"_ he commanded, and the memory flickered and sped backwards, back until just before the shift. _"Incipere."_

He watched it once more. His shivering footsteps toward the alley beside the house, he listened more carefully, to the sound of a fight, of spells being fired back and forth. Voices almost buried within the din of suffering.

Then the memory twisted again and he was in the center of the square, running.

He watched for a moment longer, then he heard it.

The scream.

Severus watched as the boy he once was _froze_ , then ran _faster_ toward the house.

 _"Prohibere,"_ he called, and the memory halted.

Breath tight and harried as he stared.

It was as if a giant hand had seized him by the chest. Then squeezed.

He had been running to the house _before_ he heard the scream.

He'd already been heading there.

And someone had Obliviated the reason why.

Severus clenched his fists and swallowed. _"Exitus!"_

He gasped as he pulled free of the pensieve, clutching his chest like his heart had given out.

A tight, twisted feeling clenched in his chest.

A horrifying glimmer of hope.

Insidious and terrifying.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it. For anyone worried about Ron's comments at the start, they're in no way true, I just want to get that across now. 
> 
> With that said, thanks again for all your lovely comments! I hope you have a lovely week.
> 
> ❤️❤️❤️


	15. Chapter 15

Something was happening on Monday. The Slytherin's were acting stiffer than usual, exchanging odd coded 'looks' and whispering amongst one another.

When Harry was reading the paper, Malfoy rushed to pull Snape aside when the Professor entered the Great Hall. The boy started to speak but Snape held up a hand and shook his head, said one quiet word and swept over to the High Table.

"What was that about?" Harry asked Malfoy, when he returned to the table.

"Nothing," Malfoy said, acting nonchalant, but Harry could smell a lie.

He started on his breakfast, adding greek yogurt and orange and ginger compote to his porridge, then spotted something curious out the corner of his eye.

Parkinson slipping slices of apple from the table into a handkerchief.

It was strange, by itself, but when he pretended he wasn't paying attention he spotted Nott doing the same. Then he watched as Zabini and Malfoy filched blackberries. All of them hid what they'd taken in their napkins and stored them away on their person, as if this was all perfectly normal.

Harry stowed the information away and ignored it.

He managed to pull his bowl out the way before the owl dropped his _Daily Prophet_ in it, then opened it wide to see the the Minister standing gravely at a podium with the headline: MINISTER CALLS FOR SHUFFLE OF EMPTY WIZENGAMOT SEATS.

Harry frowned at the headline, a bad feeling churning in his gut. He could tell this was a very bad sign, even without Snape's comment beside it: _'I'll be interested to see if you figure out his angle on this.'_

He read on as the paper supported the Minister's position, claiming that the empty seats were being left to rot when they could be bestowed to members of the Ministry. It sounded reasonable enough, but it never quite explained _who_ the Minister was planning to have fill the seats, or why they should be granted them.

Harry suspected it would be a matter of who the Minister liked best and who towed the line best. The way the man had phrased it made it sound as if he had some kind of right to take possession of empty seats, which Harry wasn't certain he did. Didn't the Wizengamot vote on these things?

It was only when he remembered the Minister's push for greater investigative power for Dark Artifacts, that Harry finally figured out why the Minister was doing it.

 _He's using it to push through votes for more Ministry power_ , Harry realized. _So he can vote to search dark-aligned houses for Dark Artifacts._

He gazed up at the High Table and looked at Snape, who seemed to take one glance at him and realize he'd figured it out. The man smiled at him proudly, then nodded.

Harry's lips twitched smugly, then he turned back to his paper. He pulled out his history notebook and scrawled out as much information as he could. Every last piece, then scrawled together a list of details he could about the last few significant headlines from the Minister and things he needed to look up.

"What are you doing?" Malfoy asked, leaning forward to try and peek.

"Nothing," Harry smirked, then Malfoy rolled his eyes and got back to reading his own paper.

He scrawled through the rest of the paper with an eye for something in particular, checking the Financials for signs of Ministry influence, checking the letters to the editors for revealing information.

He found one small item, mentioning another Ministry raid in 1903, which he noted down.

Their first class was History of Magic and while everyone else slumped in their chair, ready for a good old nap, Harry was wide awake, eager to begin.

He waved a quick hello to Neville as he wandered in late with the rest of the Gryffindors. All of them, except for one.

Hermione arrived one minute before class started, rushing through the door with her hair, robes and bag dripping wet.

Harry heard a chuckle around him. Harry turned to see Pansy Parkinson exchange a gleeful look with Lavender Brown. Harry had a horrible nausea coil in his stomach as he watched both Gryffindor's and Slytherin's alike snicker at the girl.

Hermione kept her head down, teeth clenched, then slammed her book-bag down on the table with a mighty thump. She was pointedly not looking around, eyes dipped and shoulder's hunched.

Binns floated in sleepily, eyes already glazed with boredom. He didn't bother reading the register. He never did. It was pointless, since he couldn't even pick up the sheet of paper.

Harry wondered how he read their essays. Did they have NEWT students marking them? That seemed a little unethical, but he'd never seen any paid teaching assistants collect their papers.

"Good morning class... today we'll be continuing our lecture on Emeric the Oddball... no, was it Uric the Evil... no, it was..."

Harry lifted up his hand and waited, patiently, for the ghost to notice. Then, after five minutes of the man droning on about jellyfish hats, Harry finally realized that he was never going to notice Harry.

"Sir," he called.

"Yes, Mr Prince?" The ghost asked.

"Uh, it's Potter, sir" Harry cleared his throat, "I had a question about the Wizengamot."

"We don't cover the Wizengamot until second year," the ghost replied blandly.

"I know, I just read something in the paper about Wizengamot seats. I was wondering if the--"

"We don't cover the Wizengamot until second year."

The Ghost said it without any inflection. Like he was reading from a list. It was a little unnerving.

"I, uh, I know," Harry frowned, "I just wondered if the Minister really has the power to reshuffle Wizengamot seats. The Wizengamot predates it, doesn't it? And they seem like mostly separate entities, and I thought--"

"We don't cover the Wizengamot until second year," the ghost replied, blinking placidly.

Harry frowned.

Harry had a horrible thought as he watched the sleepy Professor float back to his seat.

It was like the Professor was reading from a script. Harry didn't know much about ghosts, but he'd read something about some being 'trapped' in loops. Repeating themselves until the end of time. Over and over again.

How long had this been going on?

Was this really the best that Hogwarts could come up with for History of Magic Professors? A ghost stuck in a year-long loop, who couldn't even grade papers or change the curriculum.

"Sir," he asked, cautiously, "what do we cover in second year, when we cover the Wizengamot?"

The ghost blinked at him, mindlessly, then replied. "We cover its creation and the famous Chief Warlocks through history. Then we will move on to how it helped forge the Statute of Secrecy and the Ministry of Magic."

Harry paused. "Do we ever cover the actual running of the Wizengamot? You know, what their powers are, how membership is chosen and the extent the Ministry has influence over it?"

"Why would we cover that?" Professor Binns asked, genuinely confused. "This is History of Magic, not History of Magical Politics."

Harry frowned. "Because we should know about the office and council that governs our lives, including our rights and our laws, and we should know how it works. The Ministry--"

"Mr Prince, we have more important things to cover."

Harry raised a brow. "Really?" He said. "Self-stirring cauldrons, jellyfish hats and soap blizzards. _That's_ more important?"

Binns scowled at him. "Ten points from Slytherin, Mr Prince. I won't have that kind of backtalk in my class. Now, where was I... Oh, yes, one rainy day... in January, I believe... or was it February... No, January... One rainy day in January, Emeric..."

Harry scowled at the Professor and grabbed his notebook, then proceeded to ignore the lesson altogether in favor of writing up a list of material to search for in the library.

#

After a two hour History of Magic session, in which Harry completely ignored Professor Binns in favor of scouring his textbooks of the day for information on the Ministry, Harry had one hour of Herbology and then Lunch.

In the hall, Harry grabbed a sandwich and ate quickly, watching curiously as he noticed several of the other Slytherins doing the same.

"You're in a hurry," Harry said to Malfoy.

The boy shrugged. "Need to finish up my Transfiguration essay," Malfoy said, easily. "Lost track of time."

"Oh," Harry said with a hum, "I'm headed to the Library, we can go together."

Malfoy just barely flinched at that, cheeks reddening. "That's okay, I left it in the Dungeons. I'll finish it there and see you in class."

"I'll come with you," Parkinson said.

Nott said nothing, just got up to follow. He didn't talk much to begin with, really.

Harry thought about investigating but his mind was elsewhere, so he finished up his meal and headed to the Library.

He asked the Librarian for advice on where to look and she gave him some tips. By the time Neville was walking over to join him for their mutual free study period, Harry had gathered quite an impressive haul.

"Wow," Neville said, finding a clear spot at the end of the desk. "You're, uh, looking a little like Hermione with those leaning towers of books you've got there."

Harry smirked at him briefly, then turned back to his book, copying out the passage word for word. "If anyone wants to take a look at volume one through sixteen of the Wizengamot code of conduct, I'll be happy to hand them over."

"Um, no, thanks," Neville smiled a little. "What sparked this, then?"

"Hard to explain," Harry shrugged. "Kind of just got the urge to dive in to some research."

Neville nodded. "Well, can you at least tell me why the Slytherin's are sneaking around to pick marigolds?"

Harry froze, then looked up. "Marigolds?"

Neville nodded. "And thistles. Plus, I saw Nott sneaking some mugwort and yarrow from the greenhouses. Would have been caught if I hadn't distracted Sprout."

Harry smirked. "You sneaky little Gryffindor. Please tell me we're not corrupting you."

Neville chuckled. "Um, well, as far as my Gran is concerned, going clothes shopping would be corrupting me."

"Sounds like a plan," Harry said with a smile. "They're being weird today. Haven't decided if I should say anything or leave them to their sneaking."

Neville nodded, then his eyes widened and a realization flooded his face. "Oh, of course..." He grabbed his bag and pulled out his now-battered copy of _Magical Theory_ by Waffling, turning to a page in the middle that had been scribbled with notes. He read it through and gasped a little.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

The Gryffindor turned the book and tapped his finger along the small note in the center of the book, underlined in pencil.

_'Though the flow of magic is ever fluctuating, there remain consistent patterns of flux during several points in the year. Some of these are the point in the year when the night is at its longest (December 21 or 22), the point in which the day is at its longest (June 20 or 21), and the points in the year when the night and day are of the same length (March 20 and September 22 or 23).'_

September 23rd. That was today.

"The autumn equinox," Neville murmured.

Harry's eyes widened. "Of course..." Harry whispered. The old holidays. "But... they could have told us. We don't care about that stuff."

Neville winced. "From what I can tell... traditionalists had to become very secretive about their..." He waved a hand instead of finishing the sentence. "I recon they're not allowed to tell us. Their families will have banned them. And I can see why they wouldn't want to go against that decision. It's too big a risk."

Harry sighed and nodded. "I suppose," he winced, then he remembered Malfoy wandering over to Snape that morning.

Snape knew...

He must have been helping them somehow. Helping keep it unnoticed.

Harry imagined what it would be like to sneak around, trying to practice your beliefs in secret, because even a hint to the wrong person could ruin you and everyone you loved.

He and Neville exchanged a look, then returned to their work.

#

Harry pretended not to notice Malfoy, Nott, Parkinson, Greengrass and Zabini slip off while he sat on one of the desks in the Slytherin common room.

He pretended not to notice a quarter of Slytherin slowly and casually disappear through the entrance.

There were a few who stayed behind. Tracey Davis and Millicent Bullstrode stayed. Crabbe and Goyle, too. They were busy throwing chess pieces at one another and Harry guessed that they didn't much care for old ceremonies and traditions. Or maybe the others just made an executive decision not to trust the two of them with secrets that could get them all expelled, or even locked up.

Almost everyone who left for the Equinox was part of a pure-blood family, or the half-blood heir to an old family. There were few Muggle-raised sorts anyway, in Slytherin, but none of them seemed invited, even among the older years.

Harry supposed it made sense. After that long being persecuted, you'd go underground. You'd conceal your practices from anybody that could possibly out your secrets to the authorities.

Slytherin loyalty was worth a lot. The snakes looked out for one another. Kept each other safe. But there was no sense handing someone information that could be used against them.

Harry wondered if Snape had thought about asking him along, whether he'd debated whether to do it. But, he could see why he didn't. It was obviously not just his decision. He probably would have to go get permission from other practitioners. Many of whom would still fear he'd become Dumbledore's golden boy.

Harry stayed late, reading through _The Wizengamot Codes of Conduct_ , writing notes on the stuffy old books and trying to decode legal jargon written half in Old English. He didn't even notice the time pass.

His focus was only interrupted when he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Harry?" Malfoy lifted a brow. "Have you literally not moved an inch in three hours?"

Harry blinked and looked around at the slowly emptying common room. "Uh, I guess."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "You're as bad as a Ravenclaw. Come on, I want to play exploding snap."

Harry nodded. "Just let me finish up one last thing. I'll be there soon."

Malfoy pouted and huffed. "You have ten minutes, then I'm calling an intervention."

Harry snorted and nodded, beginning to pack up his books.

#

Visiting this place was like prying open a healing wound. Painstakingly picking it apart just as the flesh had begun to knit back together.

Most of the houses had been rebuilt. The same spots where the fiendfire had burned their previous occupants alive. There were some that hadn't been touched by it, but seemed to have been razed to the ground after the night. As if to cleanse it of the memory the raid.

The street was much familiar, in a twisted, eerie sort of way. Like looking at a beauty glamour and knowing of the grisly scarring that lay underneath.

There was one significant change, beyond all the cosmetic efforts.

A statue.

She stood in the center of the square, facing toward the house where the girl and her father had been murdered.

The statue's hair curled down her back. Wild and free.

She was forged of bronze, but Severus imagined her hair to be like Lily's, and her eyes the same piercing green, like a Killing Curse.

A Celtic beauty.

She was silhouetted against the twilight, as the streetlights shone like the fiendfire in the encroaching darkness.

The statue wore scars on her face. One on her cheek. One below her eye. Wounds from battle. Her expression hard. In one hand she clutched a spear. The other hand she lifted as if about to cast a spell. On her shoulder sat a raven.

The Morrígan.

The Goddess of battle and war. And fate.

It was a surprisingly traditional choice of memorial. One he'd not expected to see in an area ravaged by Dark Wizards, who sometimes gave offerings to her at alters before battle.

There was something almost defiant about it. A refusal to shy away from the face of war. To look her in the eye. To acknowledge and remember her.

Many of the residents in this little hamlet were Muggle. Severus wondered what they thought on the statue. It didn't appear to be glamoured.

Severus wandered past the spot where he'd seen a Death Eater strike a woman down, almost twelve years ago exactly.

He stood there for a moment, feeling an unsettling urge to fall to his knees and pray forgiveness to whatever spirit or deity would listen.

His gaze slid to the house across the street. To number eight. Where he'd stormed inside and found the girl. And her father.

His mouth tasted like bile when he turned and walked away. Followed the same path he had taken that night, as best he could recall. Winding through the streets, remembering the townspeople fleeing for their lives.

He remembered standing in front of this house. Number sixteen. It hadn't looked so splendid as this back then. It had been blasted apart by spells that night. Dirt and brick everywhere, splattered with blood. A yawning great hole in the small house.

He stood in the same spot he'd been when he saw it. The Alley. Then he closed his eyes and he plunged into his occlumency locus. His hidden temple, where he concealed every memory of his life. Inside the protection of an imagined figment of Hogwarts Castle.

He'd started learning Occlumency at Hogwarts. When he was alone, with few acquaintances, if any, to distract him. He would wander the halls, memorizing the place. So, when he was left with the decision of where to make his Memory Palace. The choice was an easy one.

He wandered through the dungeons of his mind, his hand brushing the cold walls as he walked.

This was where he hid his worst memories. Inside the stones of the dungeon walls. Plunged so deep in his mind that only he knew where to find them.

He could almost feel the chill of his home as he walked. He could almost hear his feet tap against the fabricated stone floor. He stepped until he found his destination. The first right turn. The third stone along.

He pulled it free and felt himself plunge into the memory, almost as easily as a pensieve.

Then, he stood once more among the chaos and terror of that night. The bleak night sky licked by flames and pierced with screams.

He opened his eyes and felt himself walk, half-submerged in the memory, half-aware of the empty square in which he stood. He stepped where he'd stumbled, all those nights ago, eyes trailing to the side-alley he'd been headed.

What had drawn his eye, he wondered. He couldn't quite remember that. He couldn't remember why he'd been compelled there. Maybe by a desperation to escape. Maybe something else.

He followed the same staggering steps toward the opening of the alley. Half his mind submerged in the screams of terror that accompanied that night.

He walked until the memory jolted and swirled, then he swept it to the back of his mind and concentrated.

The alley was walled off by two neighboring houses. Worn paint and plaster chipped away from the brickwork, sprayed with graffiti.

Beyond, at the end of the walkway, he could see the overgrown grass of a field or park. Darkening as what little remaining of the sunlight dimmed.

Severus walked. Through the battered alleyway, past the now-greying walls, littered with profanities. There was one patch of wall that made him stop.

One patch that had been left pristine, whether by choice or by magic, except for one message, scorched onto the wall, by a furious and bitter magic.

_'Numquam cede, numquam obliviscar.'_

Never yield, never forget.

Next to it was a familiar symbol. The lightning-bolt. Or, as Severus preferred to think of it, the Sigel rune.

He wondered if it was a later addition.

The phrase read like a call to arms. A battle cry. Severus found himself wondering, whether a survivor of the night wrote that, or just a wizard or witch who'd visited to grieve lost love ones.

_Numquam cede, numquam obliviscar._

When he lingered, he felt it. The thrum of protective magic around it. Wards. People had been adding to it as they passed. Keeping the message from being tarnished. Protecting it from all that sought to destroy it.

Severus swallowed and bowed his head to it, settling a hand over it and granting the wards a touch of his magic.

He felt his magic seep into the wards like an offering.

The quiet pulse of power as they strengthened, like a small thanks.

He lowered his hand and lingered there for a moment longer.

 _Never yield, never forget_.

Then he pulled back and turned away. Turned toward his destination.

It wasn't unfamiliar.

There was something about the open field and the distant church that prickled at his mind. He imagined standing here, as he likely had.

Heart pulsing with fear.

Hands shivering in shock.

He had heard voices, that night. Spotted the light of dark magic. A duel. Enemies fighting to the death.

There had to have been Death Eaters here. And someone else. Severus almost dreaded the answer of who. But, even still, he closed his eyes and he focused.

He swept back into that memory of the night. The memory of him stumbling through the square, sickened and unmoored. He focused on the moment his gaze flicked from the chaos and terror around him, to the alley.

He focused on the stumbling first steps he'd taken toward the alley, drawn by something. To the voices. To the magic. To a feeling. Then, when he felt the twist and pulse of the Obliviation, he _pushed_.

It felt like trying to force a boulder from the mouth of a cave. Even the first press of his magic against the Obliviation barrier was draining. The weight of it forcing him back again the minute he tried.

He gasped for a breath and clutched his head.

Whoever had cast the spell had taken special care to ensure it wouldn't slip free. Obliviation this powerful was rare. And whoever had cast it had definitely worried that Severus would be capable of uncovering it.

Still, he grit his teeth and closed his eyes.

He stepped back to the barrier. To where the moment he stepped toward the alley. The moment preceding the lost memories.

Then he pushed.

The twisting sensation curled around him, trying to force a jump, to the moment he'd been running through the square, but Severus moored himself and dug in. He pushed with a mighty swell of power, focusing on the image of the field in his mind. Focusing on the image of a Death Eater, lobbing curses at their enemy.

Focusing, until he felt something slip free of the occlusion.

The wave pulsed at him and he saw it.

Four figures.

Two in Death Eater masks and two hidden in forest green cloaks.

He saw a glimpse of someone hidden behind one of the figures in green cloaks. A small arm. Short and delicate.

A child.

Then he was thrust out. The barrier slamming down once more with an echoing force.

Severus felt like he'd suffered a blow. His head pounded with a nauseating pain. Dizzying and unsettled.

This was harder than he'd ever experienced. He'd been obliviated more than once and had always prided himself with how easily he had unpicked their efforts.

A Master Occlumens should be able to easily reveal a hidden memory once they had realized where it was and what it might reveal.

But this felt more like trying to push through someone else's memory. Like trying to push through...

Severus felt a snap and everything began to make sense.

An Occlumency barrier.

It was an Occlumency barrier, constructed around the memories. Hidden away so deep that he'd never found it. And then the memory had been obliviated to ensure that he wouldn't look.

He'd obliviated himself.

And he'd gone to such lengths that unveiling it was like performing Legimency on a skilled Occlumens.

Of course it was.

It was precisely what he was.

But the concept was almost terrifying. He'd created a whole new branch of Occlumency to perform such a feat. A new application of the art which he'd never read of or heard of before.

But every Occlumency barrier had a weakness. Somewhere that only those who knew the subject well would know how to exploit. And Severus knew exactly where to press.

He closed his eyes and pictured her.

Lily.

He pictured her and he dug himself back into the memory, into the small glimmer he'd seen. Of four figures locked in battle.

He focused on Lily.

On her eyes.

Her hair.

Her lips and her skin.

He wrapped her memory up in the love and happiness, sorrow and regret that crept in whenever he thought of her. On every sweet and bitter emotion he'd felt since they'd parted ways.

Then he gripped at the barrier, and pushed.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH WOW! I can't believe this story already over a thousand kudos! Thanks again for everyone who has commented, subscribed or added kudos. Every single one of you make my day.
> 
> For now, I'll be trying to update on Friday and Monday nights, but I might go down to once a week at some point in the future, as my progress is slowing down a bit lately. Keep any eye on the chapter notes for a heads up, I'll keep you posted.
> 
> Have a lovely weekend, my darlings! 😘
> 
> ❤️❤️❤️


	16. Chapter 16

Snape had obviously tried to protect him from the worst of it. They landed in a long alleyway between two houses, facing the field ahead, while Harry could hear the torment and terror of people fleeing behind.

Screams and cruel laughter. Peeling through the night air. The crackle of fire and magic.

" _Do not turn around,_ " Snape reminded him. His tone as hard as stone.

Snape said it almost a dozen times after he'd reluctantly agreed to let Harry enter the pensieve. Each time, he said it with the same firm tone that bordered more on terror than anything else.

He'd not wanted Harry to see this. He argued against it, but Harry had begged.

It wouldn't be long before the Headmaster would being doing the same. Stepping through Snape's memories like he had a right to them. Harry didn't like the thought of the old man being privy to anything he wasn't.

Harry kept his eyes ahead, where a figure in a black cloak and skull mask staggered past them. He clutched the wall as he went, his hands shivering and his breath loud.

Something clenched inside Harry's chest.

 _"You?"_ He asked.

The Professor nodded. _"Me."_

_"Why were you so..."_

_"Terrified?"_ The Potions Master stepped to follow his memory. _"Because I had just failed the Dark Lord. Failed to perform the Killing Curse. Failed to muster the killing intent necessary for it. And I knew what would happen if I didn't complete my task."_

_"Task?"_

The Professor was silent a moment, then his said in a voice so quiet it was almost drowned by the screams behind them. _"To kill a Muggle, or a Muggle-born."_

Harry inhaled. The thought of the man being given such an order...

_"An initiation?"_

The Professor nodded.

This was before he was marked, then. Before he became a true Death Eater. Before he entered the innermost ranks of the Dark Lord's army.

The young figure of Severus Snape stumbled through the alley, knocking glass bottles away as he moved toward the field. Hand clutched around his wand as he moved. Clinging to it.

There were voices ahead, shouting spells in quick succession. Harry could see magic bursting in greens, purples and pure whites. Strained, desperate voices chanting one spell after another. Back and forth.

They stepped through the mouth of the alley and Harry saw them. Four figures. Two Death Eaters and two figures in green cloaks.

The green cloaks were a few steps apart, surrounded on both sides by the Death Eaters, desperately holding them off while their enemies lobbed dark curse after dark curse.

" _Avada Kedavara!_ "

" _Avis!_ "

" _Crucio!_ "

" _Protego!_ "

" _Sectumsempra!_ "

The shorter of the green cloaks snapped their wand and the light of a Crucio faded. Cracked away like the person was batting away a fly.

As the green cloak moved, Harry spotted an arm, peeking out from behind them, clutching at the fabric like they were clinging on for dear life. Trembling.

A child.

" _Bombarda!_ " Cried one of the Death Eaters, and the spell slammed into the dirt beneath the green cloak. Mud sprayed in great clumps and hitting them in the eye and forcing them to flinch away. " _Expelliamus!_ " The green cloak's wand spun away into the Death Eater's hand. The Death Eater gripped it, then lifted their own. " _Crucio!_ "

"No!" The green cloak beside cried, trying to move to his companion's aid but being knocked back with a _Filipino_.

The Crucio hit the disarmed fighter with wretched effect. The green cloak fell to the floor, the girl behind them dropped to their side, crying out and clutching at them as they quivered and screamed.

The Death Eater prowled forward, wand raised. "I'm going to enjoy sending you back to Dumbledore," the Death Eater growled, "piece by piece."

"LILY!" The other cried.

Then the hood of the fallen warrior slipped away and Harry saw her.

Long auburn hair. Pale, freckled skin. Her eyes the fierce green of a killing curse.

The Death Eater's wand rose, ready to end her life, but a scream tore out over the wretched cries of madness behind.

" _AVADA KEDAVARA!_ "

The Death Eater fell, tumbled to the floor without a breath of life left in his body.

The incantations of his compatriot silenced.

Lily Potter's eyes lifted to the figure by the alleyway. Glittering and astonished. Mouth parted as if she were about to speak his name.

The remaining Death Eater twisted, wand raised, toward Snape. "TRAITOR!"

" _Stupefy!_ " Yelled another voice and the Death Eater fell. The other green cloak didn't pause. His wand raised toward Snape and--

"JAMES, DON'T!"

Snape and James stood still, wands raised. The taste of magic words on their lips. Itching through their veins.

There was a prickling quiet, as the screams and howls of the townspeople behind them iced through the silence.

It felt like one spark could set them off. The slightest flinch or flick of their wand hand.

Then a whimper stirred them both from their stand-off.

The little girl was shivering, trembling. Harry's mother sat up and curled her hand around the girls shoulder, hushed and soothed her. "I know, I know, we'll keep you safe," she whispered, her eyes flicking back to Snape, then to Harry's father. "James. You should take her to safety."

"No way," the man growled, pulling down his hood. His eyes were alight with something desperate and fearful. "We're _both_ going to get help."

"James--"

"He's right," a trembling voice added. They looked up and turned to Snape.

Snape's wand had dipped by then. Shivering. His head bowed, like he couldn't stand to look at her.

"You should leave. If you go up against them alone, they will surround you and capture you. You--" he halted, "you don't want that to happen."

There was a pause, then a desperate cry rung out behind them, jolting them. The sounds of someone dying in the square behind.

Lily straightened, firm in her resolve.

"I can't leave," she said, standing and gripping the little girl's hand. "She has a sister. I can't just--"

James cut in. "I'll go."

Lily shot him a glare. "I don't need your protection, James. You know that, of the two of us, I'm the most likely to survive. I'm here for a reason."

James grit his teeth, closed his eyes. "I'm not letting you run into that bloodbath!" He cried, eyes glittering. "I can't lose you like that! We should--"

"Which house?" Asked a firm, quiet voice.

Lily looked up at him, expression open with shock. James Potter looked as if Snape had grown another head. They watched him cautiously, then Lily swallowed. "Severus--"

"If I go... to save the child," Snape's voice grated like glass, "you must promise to leave. Now. Do not return when you fetch the Order."

Lily's eyes glittered and she blinked them away. Beside her, James's mouth opened and he drew in a breath. A look of something like... gratitude flooded through James Potter's eyes.

Slowly, Lily nodded. "O-okay," she whispered.

Snape nodded in return. "Tell me the house."

Lily licked her lips and drew in a shaking breath. "Number eight." Snape nodded once and turned. "Thank you."

The man paused, glancing over to the fallen Death Eater. He hesitated a moment, gripping his wand in his hand, then stepped over and lifted it.

" _Obliviate!_ " He cried, then turned back to the alley and fled.

Harry felt his body being tugged away, like something had pierced his chest and was dragging him upwards.

He gasped as they resurfaced in the quiet of the hidden classroom. The man beside him straightened, clutched the transfigured table and breathed, then walked over to the armchair.

Harry clutched a hand to his chest. "I... I was right..." he whispered. "Those who thrice defied him..." Harry looked over at the man. "That was once--"

"Twice," Snape corrected, gaze more solemn than Harry expected. "I betrayed the Dark Lord's men, when I'd sworn loyalty to him and his Death Eaters. Then I aided the Dark Lord's enemy, helped them to escape, when he'd ordered us to capture or kill Dumbledore's Order members, if we had the chance. I defied his commands twice."

"One more," Harry said. "One more act of defiance."

"Yes," Snape whispered.

Harry paused, watching the slumped man in the armchair. "Why aren't you...?"

"Happy?" Snape looked up and his eye glittered. "Because I hid this from myself, Harry. I concealed it deep in my mind, in the hopes I'd never find it," he closed his eyes and breathed, "I've spent a decade thinking Lily died hating me. And now I..." Snape clutched a hand to his heart like it was breaking.

Harry pursed his lips and swallowed, then reached forward and clasped the Professor's hand. "You saved her life," Harry whispered. "And if you hadn't..."

Snape opened his eyes and nodded, then clasped Harry's hand in his own. "We'll find the truth," he said. "I promise. You--" he stopped, "we both deserve the truth."

Harry smiled and nodded.

Snape then hesitated and straightened, as if packing away all the uncertainty and pain beneath layers of Occlusion.

"Speaking of truths," he said, his hand slipping into his pocket to pull free a letter. "I've arranged a meeting with a certain bottom feeder."

Harry raised a brow and read through the letter, scowling at the name on the bottom. "Rita Skeeter is blackmailing us?"

"Of course. It's what she does," Snape said. "It appears that Ms Skeeter has been angling to get an interview with you for some time, but you have not responded to any of her letters. Her recent... _hints_ at the more unpleasant way in which things could go for us both, have been her way of baiting the waters until she can find proof."

"But I never received any letters." Harry scowled at the letter. "Someone's tampering with my mail."

Snape nodded. "A mail ward is easy enough to set up. Gringotts offer the service as standard with their wealthier vault accounts. Mostly to redirect malicious mail and Howlers. Since you are somewhat renowned, I suspect the Headmaster set up a more comprehensive mail ward for you."

Harry winced and nodded. "Makes sense. I did wonder about that when I first went to Diagon Alley."

Snape raised a brow in askance.

"Um," Harry cleared his throat, "let's just say that the reaction of the eager public made it clear I should have got fan-mail at some point."

Snape smirked, then hummed.

Harry cleared his throat. "So, uh, how are we dealing with this?"

"Well," Severus leaned back, "the mail ward will have to wait. We will need to find an angle with Gringotts later. It is likely that your account manager is in Dumbledore's pocket, given that your key has not reached your hand yet. Gringotts is a beast we will have to tackle once we know the truth of your... your conception. If we go there sooner, the Goblins will ask for a blood examination to test your identity. If you are not legally recognized as James Potter's son, by blood or otherwise, you may be locked out of your accounts.

"Right now, we will need to decide upon what manner of relationship we will foster with Ms Skeeter. She may be loathsome, but it would be useful to have someone from the Prophet in your pocket. When faced with a situation such as this, one must ask oneself whether to choose the carrot or the stick to motivate the target." When Harry stared in confusion, the man elaborated. "Bribery or blackmail."

"Oh," Harry said, rereading the letter. "Well..." he looked up at Snape. "Why not both?"

A smirk slowly crept along the Potions Master's face. "That can be arranged."

#

That Tuesday was the day of Harry's health check up with Madam Pomfrey, which was just as well, because he'd just come out of Defense and really needed a pain relief potion for his head.

The Matron fussed over him when Malfoy dragged him in complaining about how Harry was like this every week and wouldn't listen to him when he said he should come see her.

"It only happens in DADA," Harry said, "it's not a big deal."

"Frequent migraines are not a small matter, Mr Potter," she chastised, waggling her wand at him. "You should take better care of yourself."

"I do," Harry insisted, "just ask Malfoy."

Malfoy huffed and nodded, admitting that Harry was the one who got extra fruit and vegetables added to the tables. Madam Pomfrey looked at Harry as if she were thinking of hugging him.

He was glad she didn't.

"You have no idea how pleased I am to hear that, Mr Potter," she said, with a glitter in her eye, "I've been nagging those House Elves for years to get more healthy options added to the menu. Children should not survive on Pumpkin Tart and Treacle Pudding." She ushered him toward the bed. "Now lie back and I'll begin the scan. Mr Malfoy, thank you for escorting him. He should be back down for dinner."

A white light hummed from the tip of her wand like a Lumos and she pulled a slip of parchment into the air, tapping it once and then watching as it floated beside her, filling up with information.

She hummed and nodded, seeming pleased enough. "Looking very healthy, Mr Potter. Very healthy indeed. I'm seeing peak condition nutritional data here, too, which is rare for a first year who's been a month at Hogwarts, where they can apparently guzzle all the sugar they desire."

Harry pursed his lips to stave off the urge to smirk.

"Well... this is strange," she said, frowning at the chart, "there's quite a few poorly-healed breakages here, several years old... far more than average. I'm afraid I will need to bring this to Professor Snape. We might even need to reset some of them."

"It's nothing, really," Harry said. "I fancied myself a bit of a daredevil growing up. I was a bit astonished I didn't end up in Gryffindor, to be honest with you."

The Madam rolled her eyes and shook her head in dismay. "Even so," she said. "I'd rather you had a conversation with your Head of House. I'm not seeing any other indications of suspicious injury, but if there is anything at all that you need to share, Professor Snape is an excellent listener and has more experience dealing with these things than likely any other Head of House in Hogwarts history."

"R-really?" Harry said. "But... he's not even been here that long. I mean... compared to some of the Heads."

Madam Pomfrey sighed and nodded sadly at that. "That is correct," she said. "However, a mixture of factors, including the after-effects of the last war, have caused a spike of detected abuse cases within the effected families."

Like Neville Longbottom.

Though, the Madam probably meant more along the lines of Death Eater families.

It would take a man with nerves of steel to take an abused child away from a Death Eater family. And a willingness to play very dirty to make it happen. It could start a blood feud, if handled improperly. But Harry suspected that Snape always found the most utterly Slytherin ways to perform his feats of Gryffindor-level heroics. It was, after all, what he'd done to save Harry from the Dursleys.

Harry felt a warm swell of pride in his chest, at the thought of all the children Snape had saved. At all the people he'd helped, in utter secret, with no expectation of praise or acclaim. Knowing that it would be more likely to make him enemies, and then doing it anyway.

"Other than that, Mr Potter," she said, "you're the picture of health. There's perhaps a lower than average muscle mass, so perhaps you could spend more time exercising and less time reading," Harry's cheeks reddened, "but it's nothing too serious."

Harry cleared his throat. "Er, thanks Madam Pomfrey."

"My pleasure, dear," she said, "come see me again if that migraine persists. That's an order."

"Oh. Yes, Ma'am."

She nodded firmly then softened again and leaned closer to whisper, "and if you can some more vegetarian options added to the school menu, I will very much appreciate it."

Harry smiled. "I'll see what I can do."

#

The Headmaster insisted on witnessing the full memory. From the moment that he'd been granted his mask by the Dark Lord, to the moments after he'd tortured the dead girl's father and returned to the Death Eater base.

Severus tried to refuse to witness it. But, the old man insisted. _"You should not run from your past, Severus,"_ he said. _"It is the only way we grow."_

Merlin, he hated this man. Hated him for his every condescending manner. Hated him for trying to turn Harry against him. Hated him for pretending to be a friend, then stabbing him in the back and accusing him of the most sickening betrayal possible.

He and Harry had returned to their private meetings again, avoiding each other in public, sending notes through Jiffy. Because any hint of a positive relationship would likely turn his Master against him one more.

The moments of that gruesome October night, leading to his first successful Killing Curse, were just as grueling as ever. He'd be grateful when he never needed to witness the havoc of that night ever again.

He forced himself to look away from Lily's hopeful eyes. To look away from that regretful expression on her face. The one that wondered if her old friend was not lost forever.

Instead, Severus watched the Headmaster. The old man kept his emotions close, for most of the memory. Except for two moments, when his mask slipped. The one where Lily implied herself to be the most powerful of her and James, that she'd been there for a reason, and the moment Severus offered to save the girl, if Lily left.

Albus turned to Severus in that moment. Expression open and amazed. The twinkle in his eye was wistful and dazed, rather than the genial old man Severus was used to.

They followed as his shadow dashed through the madness of the square, forcing his gaze ahead, while people cried for help and screamed for mercy. While burning flesh soiled the air. He ran through puddles of red, focused and determined.

Then he heard the scream. High and fading. Child-like.

He froze, then picked up the pace and ran like he was being chased. Ran so fast the memory around them seemed to blur.

He tore through the door.

Bellatrix stood there cackling as the girl lay on the ground.

She was no older than nine or ten. Identical to her sister except for a flowery blue dress.

Now, it was stained red.

The light in her eyes was long gone by the time Severus stepped inside. Like a marionette whose strings had been cut.

The boy trembled, tore off his mask and doubled over.

Bellatrix cackled. "Look at little baby Sevvy," she crooned, stepping close. The heat of her breath brushing across his cheek, even beneath her mask. "Baby didn't do as he was told, did he? Tut, tut, tut. What will daddy think?"

Severus's eyes widened and he heaved a desperate breath.

The twisted woman cackled like a hag. "You should have stayed in your little cave; brewing your potions and kissing the Dark Lord's feet," she trilled, "go back where you belong little mud-blood. Run home to daddy. Maybe he'll be merciful if you beg sweetly enough."

The boy stumbled past her. Fingers trembling and skin pale as porcelain as he stepped for the stairs.

"Baby feeling sick?" She cackled as she called to him. "You want mummy to take care of you?"

He looked like he'd collapse. The shivering of his fingers was worse than he remembered. The pure, undiluted fear in his eyes.

He remembered it now...

The terror.

He'd betrayed his Lord. Failed him and betrayed him. And the minute he made it back, he knew the Dark Lord would split open his mind and his body and make him suffer for it. For his failure.

His trembling hand pushed at a door, finding it locked. He lifted his wand and cast a barely-successful Alohomora, slammed inside and fell toward the toilet. His body heaving like it wanted to spit free the terror choking up his lungs.

The Headmaster stepped inside and glanced around, then froze. Severus didn't need to look to figure out why.

His shadow heard the chink of something, then looked up.

The grown man was cowering, hiding in the bathtub. His eyes wide and trembling.

Even watching it as a memory, Severus could feel the thrum of rage swirling off him. The boy slowly rose to his feet, his wand clutched tighter in his hand, the shaking of his fingers twisted from fear to something far, far more savage.

"Please..." The man whispered, whimpered.

There was a noise in the hallway as Bellatrix climbed the stairs and sang. "Sevvy... Sevvy? Where are you?"

The Muggle man choked as he remembered the voice. Recognized it from when she'd tormented and tortured his daughter. From when he'd cowered and listened to his daughter suffer and die. And did nothing.

"P-please--"

" _Crucio!_ " Severus hissed.

The porcelain cracked as the man thrashed in pain. Hit with the Crucio again and again while the fury danced in Severus's eyes.

Bellatrix appeared in the doorway. Cackling and cheering. "Again!" She yelled.

" _Crucio!_ "

"Again!"

He kept going until the man was unable to speak, until all he could do was whimper and stare with pleading eyes. Until Severus grew sick of it.

" _Sectumsempra!_ " He yelled and the man tore apart with a desperate wail while Bellatrix laughed.

When the light finally left the man's eyes, Severus turned and walked away, fitting his mask back on his face and leading Bellatrix down the stairs.

As they stepped into the square, they spotted the Aurors and Order members battling. "Fun's over, Sevvy," she hissed, then grabbed him by his arm and swept up in smoke.

They arrived in the Death Eater base, where Lucius and Avery Junior were waiting. And the Dark Lord, watching from his throne.

Severus and Bellatrix prostrated themselves at his feet.

"Bella?" The Dark Lord said, not deigning to look at the boy beside her. "Did our Severus earn his place?"

Bellatrix pulled off her mask and looked up with a wicked grin, her spindly fingers lifting off Severus's mask and stroking his bowed cheek. "He made a beautiful mess of him, my Lord."

The Dark Lord hummed a pleased sound. "Let me see."

She stood quickly, rushing forward and Severus remembered the relief he'd felt, as he scrabbled to Occlude, that he hadn't been called first.

Bellatrix knelt at the Dark Lord's feet, as her eyes gazed adoringly up into his. He touched her cheek and whispered, " _Legimens_ ," and watched the death of the Muggle.

A few seconds later, Bellatrix gasped and collapsed to the floor. The Dark Lord waited for her to crawl away from his side, then his gaze fell to Severus. He lifted his hand. "Here, Severus."

The boy rose. There was not a single sign of fear by then. He'd locked it all so tight in his mind that he'd barely felt anything at all.

All that chaos and discord in the raid made managing his mind in this situation feel tolerable. He lay his hand in the Dark Lord's and knelt at his feet.

The monster smiled and touched his cheek.

"I knew you belonged here, Severus. This is your home. This is where your talents were meant to thrive," he let go of the boy's cheek and reached for his wand, using the tip to slide the black sleeve away from Severus's arm. "Severus Snape, will you devote yourself to my cause? Will you lay down your life for me and my command, and cut down any threats to my dominion and dominance?"

There was the barest breath of hesitation. And Severus remembered knowing this was the moment he chose between his honor and his life.

That any doubts would have to be squashed, to the deepest depths of his mind, or they would be his last.

"It would be my honor, my Lord."

The Dark Lord smiled and his wand pressed down on Severus's arm.

Then, branded him like cattle.

They were ripped free of the memory. Shoved out like they were unwelcome. Back into the clinking, tinkering noise of the Headmaster's office.

The old man stood still for a moment. His eyes on the floor. A barely-concealed shock remained on the man's face.

"Always a spy," Albus whispered, "weren't you Severus?" The old man sighed. "Hidden even from yourself."

The Potions Master didn't look up at the man, simply stared into the silver of the pensieve. "No, sir," he said, "not a spy. Just... always Lily's."

 _Always, always Lily's,_ he thought to himself, _never yours._

He somehow found it harder to be in the midst of the Headmaster, knowing all he knew, than he had in front of the Dark Lord. Somehow, because Albus pretended to be better, his betrayal felt like a worse crime.

At least the Dark Lord had never been anything but a psychopath and a narcissist. At least Severus was the one, in the end, who'd fooled himself into believing the monster to be anything different.

But Albus had fooled the world.

Something about that made it worse.

The Headmaster sighed. "Yes," he said, then he turned and slowly stepped back to his desk, as if he'd suffered an injury. "That man you killed. It was Abraxas, wasn't it?"

"Yes," Severus whispered. "Abraxas Malfoy. His body was brought back that night. Avery Senior was held under a Crucio for Malfoy's death, for ten minutes. He barely kept his sanity afterwards."

Lucius bribed an official to file his father's death as Dragon Pox the very next day. Severus knew that the Malfoy patriarch's death had come as a relief to the then Heir.

Lucius barely ever spoke about his father, before or after that night, but Severus always suspected they'd had a more similar upbringing than Lucius would ever admit to.

The old man winced. "Avery never recalled the memory?"

Severus shook his head. "If he had, I doubt he'd have let me live. He only survived another six months after that."

Albus threaded his fingers together on the desk, staring at them. "There must be one more hidden memory," the man whispered, "a third defiance."

"Yes," Severus replied. "One more, but it will be harder to find."

Albus nodded, staring at his hands. "Keep looking," he said. "Thank you, Severus. I believe I will need time to think."

Severus nodded.

He did not try to retrieve the memory from the Pensieve, he knew not to bother. Albus was somewhat of a collector of other people's memories. Severus's in particular.

But Severus only ever pulled the specter of his true memory's from his mind, for Albus's viewing pleasure. Whether he wanted it or not, the shadows of that night, and all the nights like it, needed to stay burned into his mind.

For better or worse.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter.
> 
> Thank you again for all the wonderful messages and to everyone who hit the kudos or subscribe button. You guys are fantastic and I'm so happy you're enjoying 'Buried Memories' so far.
> 
> Have a lovely week. I'll see you all again on Friday!
> 
> ❤️❤️❤️


	17. Chapter 17

Ms Skeeter was positively oozing with delight when Severus stepped into the Madam Puddifoots Tea Shop. A smarmy grin prickling at her blood red lips. She stood and offered her hand. "Professor," she trilled, "we meet at last."

He touched her hand and bowed as if to kiss it, never quite pressing his lips to her glamour-perfect skin. "A pleasure, Ms Skeeter," he said in his softest honeyed tone.

Ms Skeeter's smile reminded Severus of a wolf baring its teeth. "It's astonishing we've not made each other's acquaintance before, isn't it?" She said, as he pulled out a chair for her and she gracefully took her seat. "You've not been avoiding me, have you?"

"Of course I have," Severus replied, taking the opposite seat with a smirk, "quite religiously. I avoid press in general, to be precise. I'm a very private man."

Skeeter chuckled. "Is that so?" She pulled out her notebook and quill, but Severus lifted a hand to stop her.

"Perhaps a little chat and some refreshments before we get to business," he suggested.

She lifted a brow, but complied, slipping her notebook and quill away and raising a hand clawed with red talons to call over the waiting staff.

"A coffee cake and a café au lait for me, darling and..." She looked at Severus.

"Dark chocolate gateaux and double espresso," Severus replied. He watched as Ms Skeeter filed the information away. No doubt it would end up in tomorrow's society news if he did not incentivize her otherwise.

When they were once again alone, Severus leaned back in his chair, relaxed and at ease, while he regarded the woman.

"Mr Potter asked me to express his sincerest apologies to you, regarding the matter of your unanswered letters," the woman startled very slightly at that, the briefest flash of anger flicking across her face. Clearly, she hadn't taken the perceived snub well. "He had not intended to cause offense, but there appears to be a mix up with his mail wards."

She lifted a brow at that. "Mail wards?"

Severus nodded. "As you know, Mr Potter is infamous and would have been bombarded with fan-mail as a mere babe had one not been set up on his behalf. It appears that it is still in effect and, given that Mr Potter was not raised in the Wizarding World, he was not aware that one was in place until your letter to me. We have been having some difficulty arranging the details of altering it so, in future, I recommend you send letters to Harry in the care of myself, as his Head of House. I am trusting you will not make this public knowledge."

The woman straightened and smirked, eager at the thought of having sole interview access to the Boy-Who-Lived. "Of course," she cooed. "Poor dear. So it's true that he was raised Muggle?"

"That is a story for another time," Severus deflected, as their cakes and coffee arrived. He waited until they were alone again to continue. "First, I would like to address the terms of Mr Potter's consent to an interview."

"Terms?" Ms Skeeter smiled like he was utterly adorable. "I thought it was plainly clear what the terms were, Professor," she lifted a fork and sliced a piece of the coffee cake. "Either he agrees to access-all interviews or I am forced to find... _other_ stories to entertain the public."

Severus hummed.

"I hear they never found the Potter Will. It would be such a shame," Ms Skeeter continued, in a cloyingly sweet tone, "if all that Potter money was seized by the Ministry because dear Harry has no legal right to it. One little paternity test and it all disappears."

As much as he loathed it, she was correct. It was one of the reason he hadn't got a test done before. All known genealogy tests were some form of Blood Magic, and so most books on the subject had been seized by the Ministry as 'Dark Arts'. Gringotts had only, just barely, managed to keep their license to perform Blood Magic genealogy tests, but only with the agreement that new test results were to be monitored by the Ministry.

If Harry was Severus's son, the moment the Ministry saw the result, he'd lose all claims to James Potter and, by proxy, Lily's estate. As much as Severus wanted to know, he wasn't sure he wanted to rob Harry of his few remaining connections to his dead mother.

No, it would have to wait.

When or if Harry became ready to risk the Potter estate and name to become Severus's legal son, they would do the test. Until then, Severus would be patient.

Severus licked his lower lip and leaned forward, tone hushed.

"I'm sure that we can come up with some more tolerable terms than that," he purred, "after all, if we're speaking of _Ministry interest_ , I'm certain there's a little beetle they'd be thrilled to hear all about."

Skeeter froze, eyes wide and her falsely-pristine skin paling a little further. "You--"

"I kept myself alive, Ms Skeeter, during the war, only because of certain _keen_ observational skills," he lifted his fork and pierced the dark gateaux, enjoying the bite in silence before he continued. "I think you'll find I can be quite the unpleasant enemy, to those who incur my displeasure." He picked up his espresso and leaned back, his gaze never leaving hers. "But there's no need to resort to cut-throat tactics. We are civilized enough to keep this matter cordial and... discreet. Don't you agree?"

Ms Skeeter nodded with a panic in her eyes. "Y-yes."

Severus smiled a rare charming smile. It would be more eerie in this circumstance than his usual withering glare. "Splendid," he said. "Now, as I said, let's talk _terms_."

#

Harry's first interview with Rita Skeeter hit the front page a week later, on the Wednesday edition of the Daily Prophet. They'd agreed to a written correspondence and hashed out the questions in advance. She'd been a little disappointed by his refusal to provide a photograph for the issue, but backed off easily enough.

The Slytherin's seemed very impressed by the glowing way she'd portrayed him in the article and the fact there was absolutely no hint, _at all_ , of his unconfirmed parentage.

" _'Mr Potter is a newly-devoted reader of the Daily Prophet,'_ " Zabini quoted in a honeyed tone, " _'He explains that, "as someone who is just finding his feet in the Wizarding World, the Daily Prophet has been an invaluable tool for better understanding Wizarding Society. I'm a big fan of the Financials, Political News and the Society Pages in particular."'_ " Zabini rolled his eyes. "What a suck up."

Harry smirked.

The other school houses, save Gryffindor, seemed to warm to him after that. As if reading all about him somehow made him more approachable.

He'd made an effort to explain how he was still _'uncomfortable'_ with the new realization of just how famous he was and how he could find it a little overwhelming, at times, when he was cornered with thank you's and praise.

 _'I know people remember that night as the moment the war ended,'_ he'd written, _'but, to me, that day was the one where my parents were ripped away from me. I know people mean well when they thank me, but I don't relish being famous for what happened. It just reminds me of what I lost.'_

He'd hoped it would keep more students and fans at a distance, stop them from asking about his scar and randomly shaking his hand. It did, he supposed, but it did have an unintended side effect.

Girl's started randomly bumping into him or asking to sit with him in the library. They'd bat their eyelashes while they asked him questions and made smalltalk.

He didn't really understand what was going on until Malfoy snapped at a Ravenclaw girl who'd approached their study-group a week later in the Library.

"No room," Malfoy sneered, slamming his books down on the empty chair.

The Ravenclaw blushed, hugged her book tight and rushed away.

"Malfoy!" Harry hissed, "Why are you being a prat? She was just being nice."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "How can you be so smart when faced with everything else and so utterly dense when met with this. She's not _'just being nice'_ , you imbecile. She's _pursuing_ you."

"Pursuing?" Harry frowned.

Zabini choked on a laugh at Harry's confusion.

Neville was the one who leaned forward and put Harry out of his misery. "She's, um, flirting, Harry."

Harry blushed. "Wh-what!"

Parkinson rolled her eyes. "What did you expect with that lonely, brooding young gentleman act? ' _I don't relish being famous for what happened. It just reminds me of what I lost.'_ " She gagged.

"It's true!" Harry said.

"Even so," Parkinson said, rolling her eyes, "you're an _idiot_ if you think that wasn't going to backfire."

Harry winced. "I just... never thought..."

"Well, you should have," Malfoy pouted, folding his arms, "it's utterly _sickening_. All week, in _every class_ , there's some irritating wench asking you for advice or trying to catch your eye or _'accidentally'_ bumping into you in the halls. I should hex the lot of them."

Zabini and Parkinson exchanged an unreadable look. Neville went a funny pink color and returned his his book. Harry sank, scratching the back of his head. "Uh, sorry," he winced, "I'm not used to getting that sort of attention."

Zabini snorted, as if he doubted Harry's authority on the subject.

"Um, excuse me," came a tentative voice.

They turned so see a second year Hufflepuff standing by the desk holding a note.

Malfoy straightened and sneered. "What!" He demanded. "There's no room, sit somewhere else!"

The girl blushed. "Uh, no," she chewed her lip, "I have a note," she hurriedly continued when Malfoy began to glare, "from Professor Dumbledore."

Malfoy reluctantly backed down and Harry smiled at her and said his thanks when she handed over the message.

#

_Dear Mr Potter,_

_If I may have a moment of your time, please come to the Headmaster's office during your free period. Miss Green has agreed to escort you there._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Professor Dumbledore,_

_P.S. The password is Gobstoppers._

#

Harry chewed his lip and stared down at it, feeling a funny sense of foreboding. Malfoy leaned forward and read it upside down. "Is it about the Prophet interview, maybe?" He whispered.

Harry shook his head. "Snape told him about that, about the... extenuating circumstances."

Malfoy winced and licked his teeth. "Do you want me to get Professor Snape?"

"He'll be busy," Harry said.

"It's almost lunch," Parkinson whispered, "we can hang outside his classroom and inform him when class ends."

Harry considered that and then slowly nodded. "Good idea."

He followed the Hufflepuff, Miss Green, through the hallways to a corridor on the second floor, dark and bare, with a gargoyle at the end.

Miss Green explained where to stand and wished him luck, then fled. He turned to the gargoyle and took a deep breath, gripping his fists together. "Gobstoppers."

The ground shifted then he felt himself rise up, spiraling round, through the turret, while a staircase formed behind him. He uneasily remained standing, not letting himself flinch. Remaining steady and confident.

When the staircase had finished its climb and he found himself standing on the other side of a door, he paused. An uneasy sensation creeping up his spine. He took a deep breath and knocked.

The second time his fist tapped against it, the door creaked ajar. Opening into a circular room, with a desk sitting in the center and surrounding by whizzing, clicking and whirling machines, sitting on pedestals. At the back, bookshelves climbed into an upper level, with symmetrical stairs ascending on either side.

Harry stepped into the room. "Professor?" He called into the silence.

He took another step, spotting the sleeping Sorting Hat sitting to one side.

He felt uneasy, as if he were walking into a trap. Something shivered down his spine as he took another step.

It wasn't until he was several steps into the room when he saw it.

Or perhaps felt it.

There was a bowl. Stone, carved with runes. Grand and wide, like a font, something you'd expect to see holding holy water in a church.

Harry felt an odd pull in his chest, like a tug. It was almost mesmerizing. He stepped closer, until he saw the silver liquid.

A pensieve, he realized, as he reached the edge, watching as a memory swirled inside, jagged and jumbled.

He felt himself pulled. Drawn. Until he touched the silver liquid. And was dragged inside.

He gasped as he landed, solid tile beneath him as he stared around the room.

Then he spotted him.

Snape.

Young, wearing a black cloak, staring across the room at something, while fury slowly seeped onto his face.

Harry felt a lurch in his stomach and rose, a hand to his lips.

He looked across the bathroom, to the tub, where a man sat quivering.

"P-please," the Muggle begged.

" _Crucio!_ "

#

The memory didn't spit Harry free until he'd witnessed Snape take the mark. Until he'd witnessed the adoring look on the young man's face and the way the Dark Lord had played to his weakness.

He landed on the floor of the Headmaster's Office, hands clutching at the ground as his stomach retched. He felt sick. Dirty. As if he was covered in blood himself.

"Harry?" A voice whispered, gentle and worried. That kindly tone of the grandfatherly old man. Hearing it made Harry's nausea double. "Oh Merlin, I didn't mean for you to see--"

Harry felt a hand on his back. He twisted and slammed the old man in the chest, _hard_. So hard that the Headmaster stumbled and knocked over the pensieve.

The silver liquid spilled and tumbled free, sluicing across the floor.

The old man froze as Harry glared up at him.

There was a silence as Harry felt air shift. The prickle of his magic, answering the call of his rage.

He wanted to kill the old man.

To Crucio him.

He wanted to spit in the bastard's face and call him out for all his lies and his manipulations. For treating him like little better than a pawn.

But Harry knew better.

Harry knew better than to show his hand.

He knew better than to think the man would back down once his secret was out.

He'd just get smarter.

So Harry swallowed it all down. Swallowed down the fury. The pain. The agony swelling inside his chest.

He fled the room and slammed the door behind him.

His breath felt ragged as he ran down the stairs. His lungs burning like a fire. A copper taste in his throat.

He was near the bottom when he slammed into someone. He felt himself knocked back by the force, falling onto the stair behind him with a thud and curled up in a shivering ball, gasping for breath as his stomach roiled.

"Harry?" Snape whispered.

Harry just barely flinched when he felt the man's hand on his shoulder. He tried not to, but the memory of the Dark Lord praising and marking him was still sharp in his mind.

"What happened?" Snape pulled back his hand, seeming to sense that Harry needed space.

Harry took in a shuddering breath. "N-not here," he said.

There was a silence. "Okay," Snape whispered. "My office?"

"No," Harry said, finally managing to straighten. He didn't look Snape in the eyes, not yet. "The other spot."

Snape nodded. "Do you need help?"

"No," Harry said, shakily lifting to his feet.

"I'm going to disguise myself," Snape said. "I will be close by. Keep an eye out for unwanted attention. I will do the same."

Harry nodded and watched as the Professor cast a spell and became invisible.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he noted that would be a very handy spell to learn.

He walked cautiously, taking a winding route that avoided too many portraits. He couldn't hear footsteps, but he could feel Snape nearby, watching him like a guardian.

When he got to the blank patch of wall at the top of the third fifth floor staircase, he checked the coast was clear, once again, and tapped the brick, opening it wide for them both to step through.

He heard Snape drop the disguise behind him, as the hole closed. Harry walked to the disused classroom.

When he stepped inside, he saw a pot of steaming tea and two plates of sandwiches waiting for them on the coffee table. Harry swallowed and wiped his eyes, whispering a quiet, "thanks, Jiffy," as he stepped over to his seat.

Snape was quiet as he stepped inside. He did not press, just walked over to the seat opposite and poured them tea. He handed it to Harry with the handle facing out, so that Harry wouldn't need to touch him.

Harry clutched it tight in his hands, taking cautious sips until his stomach felt less queasy. Until he felt like he could speak again.

"Dumbledore wants me to hate you," Harry whispered, "doesn't he?"

Snape was quiet for a moment. Harry stared down at the cup, remembering the silver liquid in the pensieve.

"I think... it is likely."

Harry swallowed. "He does." He closed his eyes. "I got there and the door was open. I stepped inside and I felt like... like I was being pulled... to the pensieve."

There was a small inhale of breath. Quiet and sharp.

"The memory started... at the bathroom. Ended with the mark."

Slowly, Snape set his cup down on the table. His hands shivering. When Harry looked up. The man's eyes were closed. A half-buried rage and regret itching at him, as if begging for release.

Harry waited for the man to finish occluding, to get back in control of his emotions. To straighten and look Harry in the eye. "Are you okay?"

Harry pursed his lips and shook his head. "It was... a lot. Seeing it..."

Snape nodded, swallowing hard. "I know. Even I... couldn't stand watching it."

Harry inhaled a shuddering breath. "He... he tricked me," he said, "didn't he? He planned for that to happen."

Snape swallowed the fury that momentarily flickered in his eyes and nodded. "It sounds true to form."

Harry grit his teeth. "How... how could he sink that low?"

"Desperation," Snape said. "Albus has a fondness for control. We all have our weaknesses. That is his. He planned for us to despise each other. For one reason or another, that remains central to his plans."

"Why?" Harry scowled. "Why is it so important to him? Why does he need me alone, without a family? Why does he need me living with the Dursleys and making nice with the Weasleys. Why is he trying to run my life like this?"

Snape's gaze fell to the corner, he pursed his lips and sat back, his mind seeming to work through something that he'd been ruminating on for a while.

"I think, because... he wants you to rely on him. To trust in his plan, like it is a divine quest. To have you move to his design. I think he has a plan for your life. A plan for your defeat of Voldemort, and he fears that if you are too independent, or too many of your allies do not trust his word implicitly, you will not do what he thinks needs to be done."

Harry blinked at that. "Wh-what do you think his plan is?"

Snape swallowed and his eyes seemed wet when he looked at Harry. "I don't know."

Harry paused. "You have a theory, though. I can tell..."

Snape winced. "I have many theories. None of which are anything I'd like to repeat."

Harry felt sick. A horrible twist in his gut as an idea struck him. The thing that he'd need to trust Dumbledore implicitly to do. Why the Headmaster would want Harry to be away from Snape's protection.

"He wants me to trust him implicitly... so that when he tells me to sacrifice myself for the greater good... I die, like a good little soldier. He wants me apart from you... so that you can't try and save me."

Severus closed his eyes. "I fear so," Snape said. "I think he fears that... my desire to save you will overrule my loyalty to the cause. To him. That I will betray him for you."

Harry exhaled and closed his eyes. "I hate him."

Snape didn't speak. The quiet prickled like needles. The desperate pain of it.

"So long as we appear do not appear to be wary of one another, the way he wishes us to be, he will try to separate us," Snape croaked. "The simplest way to resolve it would be to put up a facade of hatred, lure him into a false sense of security and to remain secretly--"

"No," Harry said, glaring up at the man.

Snape sighed. "Harry... I know it isn't ideal--"

"I'm not cowering from that bastard," Harry sneered. "I'm not letting him get away with this, and neither should you. He's a foul, disgusting _tyrant_ and he deserves to rot in the bowls of Hades. I don't want him ruling my life. I don't want to pretend to hate you. Not for _him_."

"He's too powerful, Harry," Snape whispered, "you think I don't want to get back at him? You have no idea the torture I'd love to put him through right now. But he's the most powerful Wizard in Britain. More powerful than either of us. More powerful than even the Dark Lord. We can't risk his wrath."

Harry scowled and leaned forward a glint of determination in his eye. "That's exactly why we should be _fighting back_ ," he growled. "He's _too_ powerful. Maybe once upon a time he was a good man, maybe even a great man, but right now he's little better than a dictator himself. He's deliberately _destroying_ people's _lives_."

"He's the _only_ one who knows the full extent of the Dark Lord's powers," Snape said, quiet and defeated. "Only _he_ knows how the Dark Lord came to be. Only _he_ knows the full prophecy and the reason why you are still alive," Snape leaned forward, tone weary. "There's a reason the Dark Lord has not died, despite all the efforts people have made to end him. It is not pure power that keeps him alive. It is a dark spell. Albus is the only one who can answer the question of how he did it. How to undo it."

"Only because he _decided_ he was!" Harry yelled, slamming his cup so hard onto the table it nearly cracked, liquid splashing across the surface and onto the floor. "He hides important information from _everyone_ , even those he trusts the most! Even those _more qualified_ to answer them! He _makes_ it so that he's the only one who can answer those questions. He forces us to bend to his will, because he's the only one who knows the truth, who has the information needed to forge a plan. _Any_ plan! So long as we _let_ him be our leader, we will be at his mercy. No matter how much we try and appease him, he'll never stop toying with us. We need to _do something_."

Snape silenced. A solemnity in his eyes. His shoulders were hunched, as if in surrender. But, it didn't feel like Harry was the one who had defeated him.

"He's the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Harry," Snape whispered. "He has contacts and allies in the Auror service and the Ministry." Snape exhaled. "My life is _his_ to control. I only walked free from prison because he willed it. I only have this job, where I can aid you, because he _lets_ me. He could have me locked in Azkaban whenever he wanted," the man whispered, "and then you'd never be free of him. I wouldn't... I wouldn't be here to save you."

Harry felt a burning in his throat.

This was why Snape hadn't stood up to Dumbledore before. Because he couldn't.

The Warlock had a boot to Snape's throat. The minute Snape fell out of line, he could be exiled from Harry's life. Thrown in that hellhole. Left to die alone. His whole life destroyed, because Albus Dumbledore deemed it necessary.

Harry tasted bile in his mouth.

He couldn't let that happen.

Never.

He swallowed down the bitter taste and looked Snape in the eye.

"So, we overthrow him," he whispered. "So long as we let him keep that power, he's going to use it to control us. So long as he can do that to you, we're _both_ at his mercy." Harry leaned forward, taking a deep breath. "So, we _take_ _away_ his status and his power. We turn his allies and contacts against him. We take his safe, comfortable perch at the seat of power, and we begin the long, grueling campaign to _dethrone_ Albus Dumbledore." Harry smiled a truly devious grin. "Like Slytherins."

The Professor couldn't seem to help but smirk in response.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Thanks again to everyone for all your comments, kudos and support. You’re wonderful!
> 
> Next one is up on Monday. Have a lovely weekend!
> 
> ❤️❤️❤️


	18. Chapter 18

Draco looked genuinely offended when he sat down opposite Harry in the common room, on Saturday evening, and spotted the contents of Harry's book. A long sprawl of incomprehensible dialogue about tax reforms.

"What, in Merlin's name, are you reading?"

" _The Wizengamot Code of Conduct_ , Volume Three," Harry said.

Draco blinked at him. "Why?"

"Because I just finished Volume Two, and this is the sequel."

Draco's jaw slackened and he stared at Harry as if he were genuinely worried about him. "Should I even ask what you're plotting?"

"You're a free man, Malfoy," Harry said. "Ask if you want to and I'll answer if I want to."

The blonde sighed, then paused. He cleared his throat and his cheeks pinked. "I... I consider you a friend and I would like it very much if you called me Draco."

Harry looked up and spotted the slight flush on the boy's face. Harry's heart sped up with the word 'friend'. "Um, me too," Harry slowly smiled. "Please call me Harry."

Draco beamed like he'd been given an early Christmas gift. His eyes glittered and he straightened proudly. "Good," he said, then his tone turned imperious and regal. "Now, tell me what you're plotting."

"To learn more about the Wizengamot."

"Planning on taking over, are you?"

"No," Harry said.

Draco eyed him suspiciously, as if he smelled a lie. "Are you planning to take up your seat then, when you come of age?"

Harry froze. "I have a Wizengamot seat?"

"Of course you do! How can you not know--" Draco paused, then winced. "Oh yes, the Muggles."

Harry nodded. "The Potters have a Wizengamot seat?"

"Yes," Draco said. "Though if Fudge has his way, it will probably be given away to one of his chums."

"It's an empty seat?"

"I assume so," Draco said. "Unless your magical guardian is sitting it on your behalf."

Magical guardian.

_Shit._

Harry sighed. "Right," he murmured, then pulled over his notebook and quill and started furiously scribbling notes to himself to look it up in the by-laws for the Wizengamot seats.

Draco hummed and watched him. "If you want advice on Wizengamot seats and by-laws, my father is rather an expert. I could write to him on your behalf."

Harry paused. It might be useful but he knew that Snape would have an opinion on it. "Thank you for the offer. I'll bear it in mind."

Draco nodded, then pulled out his textbook, notes and parchment began do his homework.

When Draco finally went off to bed that night, Harry wrote Snape a note.

 _'Does Dumbledore sit my Wizengamot seat? Draco mentioned the Potters had one. He offered to ask his father for information on seats and by-laws, if I wanted. Should I accept or steer clear?_ '

Harry spoke Jiffy's name and the note quietly popped away. Harry continue reading for another few minutes before the reply arrived.

 _'I am not an expert on Wizengamot politics,'_ Snape admitted, _'but it is possible that Dumbledore is sitting it for you. Lucius Malfoy may very well be a good acquaintanceship to foster. I suspect that he will be happy to aid you for free, for the meantime, as your name in itself holds value. However, he will only do so at the expectation that favors will follow some time down the line. Be prepared to barter for them. He is an accomplished opponent, in that regard and many others._

_'I will start writing up talking points and subjects to avoid when you speak to Draco about it. It is a matter that will require a polished delivery. We want to foster the right level of curiosity without outright exclaiming our intent.'_

Harry stared at the man's note and wrote a quick reply. ' _Are you and Mr Malfoy friends?'_ He asked.

It was a few minutes before he got a reply.

One line.

_'I owe Lucius Malfoy several grave debts and he has never let me forget it.'_

#

Harry woke up on Sunday morning with a parcel sitting on his side-table, wrapped in brown paper.

On top of the parcel was a letter with, _'Young MaSter Harry'_ written on it.

Harry grinned and unfolded the letter.

#

_To Young MaSter Harry,_

_JIffy is beIng well Thanks you! She be very Sad wIthout you but trIes to Stay busy! MaSter S be ever so kInd and got JIffy new cloth and wOOl And thraed tO makeS clotheS with! JIffy be So happy she crIed! JIffy makes the Young MaSter thIs present So he stays warm!_

_JIffy hOpes the Young MaSter is havIng fun at school and learNIng lots!_

_Love!_

_JIffy_

#

Harry opened the brown paper and pulled out an emerald green scarf. The wool was flawlessly knitted. So much so that Harry imagined the little House Elf toiling away, perfecting every stitch until it was the best it could be.

When he threw it around his neck, he noticed embroidery at the bottom. It was silver. Small as the palm of his hand and shaped like an S.

A snake.

Harry smiled and stroked the embroidery, stared at the obsidian black eyes of the serpent.

She must have practiced this a thousand times. It had a significance to it. Like it was more than just a decoration. Like it was a symbol.

Harry pulled out a quill and parchment and wrote a reply.

_'I love it, Jiffy. It's amazing. I'll treasure it.'_

When the note popped away, he could have sworn he heard her squeak with delight.

Harry quickly got showered and dressed, then threw the scarf around his neck and took his notes and library books and went back to his spot in the common room.

When Draco emerged and spotted him back at work reading _The Wizengamot Code of Conduct_ , he scowled. "Please tell me you aren't planning on spending all day like this."

Harry hesitated. "Um..."

"No," Draco folded his arms. "I forbid it."

Harry smiled. "Do you now?"

"Yes," Draco walked over and Harry just about managed to shove a bookmark inside before the blonde slammed the tome shut. "You're as bad as a Ravenclaw. I tolerate your bookish tendencies to a point, but everyone has their limit. It's a _Sunday_ and I _know_ you've finished all next week's homework. For Salazar's sake, take a break!"

Harry sighed. "Fine," he said, then reached into his bag and searched for the Dragontamer Bane series's second book. When he pulled it free, Draco snatched it from his hand and scowled.

"Absolutely not!" Draco cried. "I'm confiscating this."

"What!" Harry jumped to his feet. "You can't do that!"

"I can. This is an intervention. Have you even been outside the castle for anything other than Astronomy and flying class? I am doing this for your own good." Draco shoved the book in his bag and pointed to the mess of paper and notes surrounding the desk. "Clear that up and we'll go to breakfast. You can get your book back when you start acting like an eleven year old and not a retired Ministry employee. Go get your winter cloak."

Draco dragged Harry to breakfast, holding his book hostage and then, when Harry's copy of _The Sunday Prophet_ arrived, kidnapped that too.

"Hey!" Harry scowled. "I wanted to read the Gringotts Weekly Report."

Draco rolled his eyes. "No," he said. " _No_. Eleven year olds _do not_ read the Gringotts Weekly Report. Octogenarians, do. Now, eat some crêpes."

"But I wanted--"

"No," Draco snapped, grabbing the plate of pancakes and shoving it at Harry, "no porridge. _Crêpes_."

Harry sighed and agreed. He layered a load of yogurt and blueberry compote with honey on a french crêpe and reluctantly admitted that maybe it was quite good.

When the others arrived at breakfast and spotted Harry looking a little cowed with his still-tied copy of _The Sunday Prophet_ sitting out of reach, Zabini smirked. "Draco finally snapped, did he?"

"Shut it, you," Draco said, pointing a fork at the boy.

Zabini chuckled and grabbed a plate of crêpes. "So what's the plan for today?"

"Outside," Draco said. "The imbecile hasn't breathed fresh air in days. Ideally, I'd set up a Quidditch match but we can't use brooms, so that's out."

"Gobstones?" Parkinson suggested.

"Might as well be indoors for that."

"Quoits?" Greengrass said.

Draco wrinkled up his brow. "Urgh, I hate Quoits."

Greengrass smirked. "Only because I beat you every time."

Draco scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Not falling for it Greengrass."

"Worth a try."

"Um," Harry cleared his throat, "are brooms essential to play Quidditch?"

The table laughed and Draco scoffed. "How else would you play it?" He asked. " _Run around_?"

Harry shrugged. "Well, yeah."

The Slytherin's silenced, then exchanged a few curious looks. Draco stared off into the distance, frowning. "I suppose you could... but..."

"You couldn't keep the snitch in play," Zabini said. "I mean, we could get a teacher to spell the bludgers to stop flying too high, but snitches are basically tamper-proof."

Draco nodded absently. "It's not really Quidditch without a snitch or brooms, but I suppose it could still be entertaining. Feels a little childish, though. I haven't played a running game since I was a toddler."

"It'd be good exercise," Harry prompted. "Madam Pomfrey was complaining about me being too sedentary or something."

Draco straightened at that, suddenly determined. "Well, no wonder, the way you've been shutting yourself in the Library. That's settled then. I suppose, since the Seeker position is out, we'll have to play on a timer."

"So long as you can find another team to play against," Greengrass corrected, eyebrow raised.

Draco suddenly burst out with a vicious smirk and his gaze fell to the other side of the room. "Oh, I think I can find us some willing opponents."

Harry got a really bad feeling. "Draco, no, please don't antagon--" the boy launched to his feet and swaggered across the room to the Gryffindor table, where the lions bristled furiously as the boy approached.

They couldn't tell what Draco was saying, but whatever it was got half the Gryffindors jumping up in their seats with righteous indignation, glowering and yelling threats.

By the time Draco was done with them and sauntered away, the lions were having a heated discussion amongst themselves.

#

Flitwick was only too happy to charm some Quaffles and beginners Bludgers to remain a certain distance from the ground. He and the other teachers seemed very intrigued at the adapted version of the sport and requested to come watch.

Just as they'd finished talking to Flitwick and were about to make their way out the Great Hall to play, the Weasley Twins stepped onto the Gryffindor table and yelled loudly for all to hear.

"Attention all!"

"Attention, please!"

"All present are called to witness--"

"The inaugural game of the _newest_ sporting craze--"

The two of them paused, then at once cried: "WIDDITCH!"

Draco made a choked sound and his eyes widened.

"The first game will begin outside--" one Weasley cried.

"In ten minutes!"

"Be there!"

Then they both grinned across the room at Draco and saluted him with malicious smirks.

Draco growled. "Those absolute _tossers_! They're taking credit for _our_ idea! I should sue them!"

Harry sighed. "I'm guessing you antagonized them?"

"No!" Draco yelled, then froze and winced. "Well, a little."

Harry huffed. "Well, come on then. Let's go."

They made it outside to the patch of grass and shrank some hoops so they were about the size of a torso and just tall enough to reach. Half the school had come to witness, lazing about on the grass with books and snacks.

Draco wandered over with Zabini for a tete-a-tete with the Gryffindors and returned with the game plan.

"Okay," Draco turned to the group and clapped his hand. "The Gryffindors have selected the littlest Weasel for Keeper and the twins for the Beaters."

"But they're years older than us, and _already_ on the Quidditch team," Bullstrode frowned. "That's hardly fair."

"Which is why," Zabini smirked, "they're playing with a Chaser down. Just Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan."

"Exactly," Draco said. "Milly, are you up for playing Keeper?"

The girl grinned. "Leave it to me."

"Crabbe, Goyle, you play the Beater positions. Blaise, Harry and I will be Chasers."

They all nodded and got ready. Harry cast an impervious over his clothes and carefully laid his Winter Cloak, new scarf and wand out of the way with Greengrass and Parkinson.

About ten minutes into the game it became readily apparent that what Widditch lacked with airborne acrobatics, it made up for in sheer brutality.

Quidditch was already pretty brutal in itself, with fouls generally ignored in amateur games, but in Widditch it apparently became perfectly okay to grab the Quaffle off another player by slamming into them or tripping them up. They didn't have a referee so it wasn't as if anyone was docking them for it.

"Dean Thomas is on fire folks!" Lee Jordan announced, voice amplified with a Sonorous. "Just look at him run!"

Harry suspected that Dean Thomas played football or rugby (or both), because he knew how to dodge and fake out the other players, and boy could he run.

The Weasley twins, however, were by far the worst. When they knocked the bludgers out of the way of their own players, they deliberately aimed them at the Slytherins with a skill that had been clearly well honed in Quidditch practice. It seemed harder to dodge bludgers when you couldn't fly away. They had to throw their bodies out the way to keep from being hit. Harry been rammed once already and it wasn't pretty. At least they were beginners bludgers, so they didn't break anything.

He became increasingly glad that he'd cast that impervious on his clothes as the ground became slicker with mud the longer they played.

The Quaffle was harder to catch when you had to literally run for it, instead of fly. Draco seemed to quickly realize how ill prepared he was to take part in _actual_ physical exercise, but his competitive streak seemed to overrule his general discomfort.

Zabini's smug smirk fell away as the game got more intense. In it's place, his eyes lit with fierce determination.

"Another ten points to Gryffindor! That's 80-60! The Lions are in the lead!" Lee Jordan cried. "Only twenty minutes left on the clock! Let's see if the Snakes catch up!"

They were twenty points behind Gryffindor, with twenty minutes to go. They could hear Marcus Flint yelling threats about Slytherin pride from the growing crowd around them.

Harry was starting to see what Madam Pomfrey had meant about him not getting enough exercise. He'd not sweat this much in ages. Not since Dudley stopped 'Harry Hunting' after his visit to the Hospital. It was a bit of a shock to the system at first but, after a while, he felt the adrenaline and instincts kick in.

As the tempus charm above Flitwick hit fifteen minutes remaining, Harry spotted the bludger heading toward Thomas from behind.

Harry burst into a sprint, rushing for the other side of the field just as the bludger rammed into Thomas and knocked him to the ground. The Quaffle rolled free and Harry scooped it up, bolting toward the hoops.

"Potter's got the Quaffle! Look at him go!" Lee Jordan announced. "Where was that speed twenty minutes ago?"

"COME ON, HARRY!" He heard several Slytherins yell from the sidelines.

Harry watched from the corner of his eye as a Weasley twin headed for one of the bludgers, readied his bat and aimed.

Harry tucked the Quaffle tight into his chest with his right hand, dipped his head, leaned forward with his hand on the grass and rolled. The bludger flew straight over him and he leapt easily to his feet to the blissful roar of the crowd.

"Look at _that_!" Lee yelled. "That's a move for the books, folks! Not a speck of dirt on him, either!"

"HA-RRY! HA-RRY!" The spectators chanted.

He hurtled full speed at the hoops as Ron prepared to block him and Thomas and Finnegan dashed toward him, ready to knock him to the ground.

They were too slow though.

Harry ran faster than he had in a long time. Like he was running from Dudley and his whole gang, body sizzling with energy. He kept his eye on Ron, twitched right, then, when the boy fell for it, thrust the Quaffle to the furthest left hoop.

"That's a goal!" Lee yelled. "I have to admit, that boy has moves! 80-70 and ten minutes to go! I have a feeling this is going to be a close one, people!"

When the Quaffle was thrown back into play, Crabbe aimed a bludger straight at Thomas when he headed for it and the boy had to leap out the way to keep from being hit.

Draco managed to grab it and make a run, when Finnegan began shadowing him and one of the twins aiming a bludger at him. He grit his teeth. "BLAISE!" He yelled, then threw the Quaffle his way.

Zabini managed to catch it and ran as the timer hit five minutes to go. He sprinted like hellhounds were on his tail. Aimed the Quaffle and...

"Another goal!" Lee groused. "It's a tie, folks! Merlin, these Snakes catch up fast, don't they! Come on Lions! Five more minutes!"

The last five minutes felt like an eternity. The Weasley twins got more ruthless. Thomas and Finnegan's tactics got more vicious.

With two minutes on the clock, Zabini had the Quaffle. He ran full speed for the hoops as Finnegan rushed him. The Irishman body slammed him to the ground, but not before the Italian had thrown the Quaffle to Harry.

"COME ON, HARRY!" The Slytherins screamed.

Harry bolted the last few meters, ran for the right hand hoop and--

"TIME!" Lee yelled. "Saved by the bell, folks! That's a tie! Eighty a piece. I think we're gonna need a rematch but _Merlin_ , _what a game_!"

Harry huffed and laughed, dropping the Quaffle with a sigh and wiping his forehead with his sleeve. He glanced at Ron. The boy seemed a little nervous now they were standing opposite each other.

Ron cleared his throat. "Look, uh," he swallowed hard, "I'm sorry about, uhm, that thing I said. I shouldn't'a said it and all."

Harry swallowed down his memory of the boy spitting Dumbledore's vile lies. "No, you _really_ shouldn't have."

Ron winced and nodded. "I know. I thought I was doing the right thing, but..." he shrugged, "it weren't."

Harry lifted a brow, suspicious. "What made you realize this, then?"

Ron scratched the back of his neck and his face turned nauseously guilty. "Well... don't kill me or anything, but, before we... _talked_ , I might'a sent a letter to my dad, implying the same stuff I said to you. He... well, if I'd been in hexing distance I think he might've skinned me alive. And he said that were _nothing_ compared to what my mum would say if she ever found out."

Harry smirked vindictively at that. "Good."

Ron grimaced. "Yeah, well, I'm sorry."

Harry paused, staring at the Gryffindor.

He didn't really fancy forgiving the boy. He still felt like hexing the bastard into the hospital ward every time he saw him. It wasn't as if the Gryffindor really understood what he'd done wrong, either. He didn't seem to realize just how despicable that kind of gossip could be. How much it could have ruined Snape's career. His entire life.

But, the idiot was only repeating what he'd been told by an authority figure he trusted. He was stupid, but that was precisely why Harry needed to tread carefully. He could still vindictively spread the rumor if the urge struck him.

 _He's probably been raised believing Dumbledore is some infallible leader of the purest light,_ Harry reminded himself, _I'll show him different. One less pawn for Dumbledore to exploit._

Harry chewed his lip, then nodded. "Alright," he said. "Good game, mate." His mouth tasted bitter as he said the words.

The redhead blinked, then sank with relief. "Good game."

They reluctantly shook hands, while Harry's skin crawled with the lingering desire to hex him to oblivion. The other Slytherin's seemed to decide to run by example and shake hands with the bewildered Gryffindors. When he walked over to the Weasley twins they were grinning at him.

"You're a crafty little snake, aren't you?"

Harry smirked. "I could say the same about you two."

"Hah!" One twin snorted. "He's on to us, Gred."

"I think you're right, Forge," the other replied. "Good game, ickle snakey."

"Good game," he said, shaking each of their hands. "Until next time."

"You're on," they grinned.

Harry walked over to his friends and was mobbed by upper year Slytherins. Draco rushed over, grinning wide.

"That was incredible! I mean, it's a shame we didn't win, but we were obviously the team with more _raw talent_ ," the boy said, smirk in place. "What was that move of yours, by the way?" He asked, brow lifted. "The one that was like a barrel roll, but on the ground."

"Oh, that?" Harry asked. He licked his teeth and tried to think how to put this. "Well, uh, I knew a girl at school who did Martial Arts and she showed me some really basic stuff before she moved schools."

The girl, Georgia, was a few years older than him. She'd spotted him being knocked down by Dudley's thugs one day in his fourth year and, when his teacher didn't believe he was blameless, showed him a few simple moves to make fleeing easier for him. Mostly just how to dodge and how to effectively kick someone between the legs. She was already about to leave for secondary school at the time, but her brief lessons had made things much easier with Dudley. Though his cousin had laughed his ass off at first about Harry _"fighting like a girl"_.

 _"Don't try and fight unless you have to,"_ Georgia told him when they'd been practicing after class. _"Most of the time, the best thing you can do is run."_

"Martial Arts?" Draco frowned. "What's that?"

"Like Muggle fighting Arts," Harry explained.

"Oh," Draco seemed a little more cautious at that, "well, it was... very impressive, anyway."

"Thanks," Harry smiled.

As they were walking back to the Slytherins he saw a black figure out the corner of his eye. He turned to see Snape walking away, back to the castle. His black robes billowing behind him.

"Splendid show," said a familiar voice behind him.

Harry froze.

He felt a flush of fury rise through him, begging for release.

Instead, he occluded.

Shoved all his bitter, twisted emotions down and turned.

The Headmaster's eye twinkled joyfully. "Good to get out in the fresh air now and then. Whose idea was this, then?"

"It was a collaboration," Harry said, smiling awkwardly while Draco straightened beside him, frowning at the Headmaster. Harry tried to control his facial muscles, to keep from sneering or scowling. "Seems to have won people over."

Dumbledore chuckled. "Indeed it has, my boy.

_I'm not your fucking boy._

Harry bolstered his occlusion, cleared his mind once again as he felt the barriers slip in the swell of his welling rage.

 _Stay calm and clear,_ he reminded himself. _Calm and clear._

"I wondered if I might have a moment to speak with you," Dumbledore said, peering at Draco beside him.

Harry shrugged. "Alright," he said. "Let me grab my Winter Cloak, maybe a walk around the lake?"

_Where everyone can see us._

Dumbledore paused, then smiled. "A delightful idea."

Harry nodded and tried to appear uncaring when he walked back to the group with Draco and picked up his Winter Cloak. He pulled it onto his shoulders, picked up his scarf and wrapped it around his neck, absently stroking the embroidered snake.

"Are you okay?" Draco asked him, a knowing scrutiny in his gaze. The others were nearby chatting, pretending not to be curious about his mysterious conversation with the Headmaster.

Harry nodded, pulled up his hood of his cloak and clutched his wand tight in his hand beneath the warmth of the fur. "I'll meet you in the common room when I'm done. Shouldn't be long."

Draco hesitated, looking a little as if he was thinking of dragging Harry back inside and locking him in the dungeons. But then he nodded, seeming to implicitly understand the subtext beneath: _If I'm gone too long, get Snape._

It was times like this he was glad to be surrounded by Slytherins, who never needed hidden meanings spelled out for them.

Draco swallowed. "Good luck."

Harry smiled and walked back to the Headmaster. Pulling his magic into his mind and feeling the clarity of occlusion spread through it.

_Calm and clear._

He gave the Headmaster a deliberate nervous smile as he walked over and remembered Snape's words.

 _'He is not prepared for you, Harry,'_ Snape had written to him after their meeting. _'He is expecting a broken, powerless boy, who craves his praise and approval. Who will hold his word above all. He will not be expecting the sharp-witted and shrewd Cobra that you truly are. Use his expectations against him and he will not see us coming.'_

Dumbledore smiled and his eyes twinkled in return. "Shall we?"

Harry nodded and they began their walk.

Some students were still milling around the pitch, where they'd set up the hoops. A group of upper years looked like they were negotiating teams to play their own Slytherin v. Hufflepuff game.

They kept walking until they met the Black Lake. The Giant Squid was splashing about, one eye watching them curiously beneath the murky water.

There was silence for a long while, heavy as a cloak, then a shriek in the distance jolted Harry from his thoughts.

A bird.

It was a brilliant red, with plumage like fire, soaring above the lake, around their heads.

Dumbledore halted. "Fawkes," the old man muttered.

Harry paused. "You know that bird, sir?"

Dumbledore smiled, but there was a gloom to it. "Yes," he said, gaze fixed on the bird. "He's a friend of mine, Fawkes," he turned back to Harry with a twinkle in his eye. "He's been acting a little mysterious lately. I suspect he's had a lot on his mind."

Harry gazed up at the bird. He spotted a spark of flame flicker from the bird's tail feathers as he turned and flew toward the Forbidden Forest. "A phoenix, sir?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Good eye," he smiled. "Yes, Fawkes is a phoenix."

"I didn't think they could be domesticated, sir."

Dumbledore smiled. "I'm not sure domesticated is quite the word, but they make highly faithful pets to those lucky few who are chosen to accompany them through their long lives."

Harry nodded.

 _Chosen,_ Harry noted. _Interesting choice of words._

Dumbledore stared toward the Forbidden Forest for a moment, then continued the walk.

"I wanted to check in with you, my boy," the old man said, "after the regrettable event that occurred with the pensieve."

_I'll bet you did._

"Pensieve, sir?" Harry asked.

"Ah, of course," Dumbledore's eye twinkled almost with satisfaction at Harry's display of ignorance. The chance to play wise and all-knowing mentor. "The bowl in my office, with the silver liquid. It is called a pensieve. It allows the user to store and view memories, like the ones you saw."

Harry chewed his lip and nodded. "That was Professor Snape's memory, sir?"

The Headmaster nodded, then sighed. "I'm ashamed of myself for not safeguarding it better. That was not something that a child should ever have to witness."

 _No,_ Harry thought, _it isn't. But you made me to watch it anyway._

"I'll be okay, sir," Harry muttered, "it was a shock, hard to watch, but..." he paused, "I'm glad I saw it."

The Headmaster paused, brows furrowed as he stared at Harry. "You are?"

Harry nodded. "I heard people talk about Professor Snape, about what he did before he turned spy. I don't think I really understood what it meant. Why he'd ever join the Dark Lord," Dumbledore flinched when Harry uttered that name, but said nothing, "but now I think I see." He paused for a moment. "The Dark Lord was a puppet-master. Probing for people's weaknesses and exploiting them for his own means. Powerful and charming. It must have taken real strength to turn away from a monster like that, knowing he could read the betrayal in your mind at any moment."

Dumbledore was silent for a moment, then hummed.

"Professor Snape warned me, before," Harry said, "that he wasn't the paternal and tender sort, that I might be better off without him."

"It is your choice, my boy."

"I know," Harry said. "I'm going to need time to think about it." Harry paused, then looked down and chewed his bottom lip. "Sir, I was..." He hesitated, "you knew my parents, didn't you?"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with relief and he smiled. "I did, my boy. I knew them quite well."

Harry nodded. "Could you, um, could you tell me about them?"

Dumbledore's smile was soft and grateful, he nodded and they continued their walk.

Harry listened to the man sing the praises of James Potter, talk of his mother as a _"wise and virtuous woman"_. Dumbledore talked of James's mischievous pranks and his acts of bravery during the war.

Harry listened, quietly, to the old man talk. He let the old man talk of their 'noble sacrifice'. Let the old man think he was being tugged further into his web, moving to his design.

He lured the old man into a false sense of security, allowing him think he had control when, all the while, Harry was pulling the strings.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to everyone who left messages, kudos or who subscribed. Every one of you put a huge smile on my face.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter. The next one will be up on Friday.
> 
> Have a lovely week!
> 
> ❤️❤️❤️


	19. Chapter 19

On Halloween, they woke to the delicious scent of treats baking somewhere in the deep depths of the Dungeons. Harry briefly wondered if he could use the smell to find the kitchens, before deciding he'd be better off just asking Snape.

When they sat down to breakfast that morning, a magnificent falcon came swooping in the Hall, alongside the regular post owls and Daily Prophet delivery. The falcon swirled and landed on Draco's chair. The blonde eagerly removed two letters, tore open one, grinned as he read it through, before slipping them both into his pocket and peering at the High Table where the teacher's were sitting down for breakfast.

"What's got you so cheerful?" Harry asked quietly, opening his paper as the birds began to sweep away.

"I'll show you later," Draco said, tone utterly smug.

Harry nodded and turned to his paper.

Later that morning, Professor Flitwick showed the class how to perform the Levitation Charm. Harry watched with some shock as most the class struggled with it. He was starting to think that either the author of the _Muggle-born Guide_ book had perhaps exaggerated the downsides of being Muggle-raised, or he'd maybe he just over-prepared for school.

Just a little.

Behind him he heard Ron and Hermione bickering as she attempted to correct his pronunciation and he seemed to take offense to the offered help.

Harry admitted that Hermione had a way of 'helping' that somehow managed to hit the exact wrong level of infuriating condescension, but Harry could tell that she genuinely just meant to help.

She didn't seem to have many friends or acquaintances. Harry could imagine that being the only studious eagle in a house full of distractible, reckless lions, might be a little lonely. He was so glad he hadn't ended up in the same position. Harry didn't know how his mother had coped all those years.

Still, Harry had watched with growing unease as the Gryffindor's and Slytherin's snickered more and more at her in classes. Lavender Brown and Pansy Parkinson seemed to form some unholy alliance to make the poor girl miserable.

Harry felt sick at the thought that maybe he'd sparked this, the day he'd confronted Hermione in the library.

After the class had filed out into the corridor, Harry heard Ron mutter to Dean, "It's no wonder no one can stand her. She's a nightmare, honestly."

Harry winced as he spotted Hermione's crestfallen face in the crowd of departing students, eyes glossing over with tears. She sniffed and ducked her head, slamming past Ron and Dean and down the corridor out of sight.

"I think she heard you," Dean said.

"So?" Ron grimaced. "She must've noticed she's got no friends."

Harry scowled. He had half a mind to bite the little bastard's head off for it when he heard Draco chuckle. "Serves her right."

Harry shot a glare at him. "For what?"

Draco flinched. "Well, she's an utterly infuriating. Even you can't stand her."

"So?" Harry lifted a brow. "She might need to learn a little tact and prioritize better, but nobody deserves to be bullied like this. Especially by their own house."

Draco rolled his eyes. "That's the most sickeningly Hufflepuff statement I've ever heard you utter. Please don't make it a habit."

Hermione didn't show up for Transfiguration. Harry felt a little worried about her, but Draco grabbed him as they left for lunch, so he didn't have much time to think about it.

"I sent Crabbe and Goyle to grab us something to eat," Draco said, pulling him toward the Dungeons.

"They're not your servants, Draco," Harry rolled his eyes.

"They _like_ helping," Draco said. "Especially when it involves food. Come on."

When they finally got to the common room, Draco dragged him over to an empty seat and pulled a letter from his robes. "Open it, open it!" He cried, shoving it at Harry.

Harry held it in his hands. On the envelope was written:

_Mr Harry James Potter_

_C/O Draco Lucius Malfoy_

_Slytherin House_

_Hogwarts School_

Harry blinked. So someone had worked out that his mail wards were keeping letters away. Given who the letter was sent via, he assumed it was Lucius Malfoy who'd sent this. Harry hadn't expected to be sent a proper letter from the man.

Harry turned it around and looked at the intricate seal. It was silver wax with an LM stamped in beautiful calligraphy. Harry wondered if perhaps he should invest in a wax seal of his own. He supposed it was pointless until he sorted out his mail wards.

He tore it open carefully and pulled out the letter inside. It was written in perfect script that looked very similar to Draco's. Harry wondered if his friend deliberately modeled his handwriting style after his father.

#

_Dear Mr Potter,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. Please forgive me for opening a formal correspondence with you without the permission of your guardian. I hope you will understand that the various political ramifications surrounding this decision made it impracticable._

_I was most pleased to hear from Draco about your sorting into Slytherin and your blooming friendship with my son. I know you will have heard some unpleasant things about our family and it gratify's me to hear that you are not holding hearsay and rumor against Draco._

_It is always a delight to hear a young man or woman take interest in the political sphere, but it is almost unheard of in students your age. It shows a particular intelligence, drive and ambitious spirit which I am eager to encourage._

_In answer to your questions, the Potter seats are, as you suspected, currently being sat by your self-appointed Magical Guardian, Albus Dumbledore. It is an unprecedented affair, as the person in a position of Chief Warlock gives up their right to their family seat when they are offered the title. Chief Warlock Dumbledore, however, has only been holding your seat, as well as the seats for the House of Black, House of Meadowes, House of Dearborn and House of Fenwick, in the absence of a current fit Lord or Lady of the Wizengamot. He is doing this by utilizing some little-known Wizengamot by-laws, which happen to be an area in which I hold some expertise._

_The Will and Testament of your mother and father was apparently never discovered by the Goblin in charge of their account. Thus Dumbledore utilized the Chief Warlock's right of bequeathal to hold the seat and to avoid having the Ministry take temporary control and ownership of your seat and accounts. This right of bequeathal is usually only a temporary solution, held for a month to a year, until a suitable Magical Guardian is found for the underage Wizard or Witch who inherits the seat. However, almost ten years have passed and Albus Dumbledore has yet to approve an alternative Magical Guardian to hold your seat until you reach the age of majority._

_He also utilizes a little known section of the Wizengamot code of conduct in order to continue holding the remaining seats I mentioned. Until the cases of the deceased or incarcerated House members which I mentioned are resolved, and trials have been finalized, the seats may be held by the Chief Warlock. The consequences of this are that Albus Dumbledore now holds six seats, five from other Houses and one as the Chief Warlock, enough to sway a ruling in whichever direction he favors._

_You seem like an intelligent enough boy that I doubt I need to emphasize how inappropriate and inequitable it is for a single member to hold as many as six votes. The last ten years have seen a number of unjust cases and laws passed which put the old houses under threat and allow raid and seizure of their property._

_The Wizengamot has just barely managed to keep some highly invasive laws at bay, the most recent being 'The Muggle Protection Act', which may still be enforced due to the Minister's renewed attempt to seize several empty seats. It is my personal opinion that the Ministry has been pushing for inappropriate levels of influence within the Wizengamot, and vying for more seats, precisely because of the inequitable influence which the Chief Warlock has misappropriated. The consequences will only, I fear, grow steadily worse the longer it is allowed._

_I can tell, from what little I have already heard of you, that you are destined for a position of great influence. It is customary for the heir to a Wizengamot seat to be counseled by their forbearer on political matters before they inherit. I can see that your own Magical Guardian will prove to be a most unforthcoming advisor. For that reason, I would like to offer to mentor you in your future political aspirations. If you accept this mentorship, it will begin formal negotiations to ally the Houses of Malfoy and Potter and we will, as such, forgive any historic Blood Feuds instigated by our ancestors._

_I understand that you will need time to consider and confer on this matter and I encourage you to deliberate it at your own pace, but I do sincerely hope you will welcome this opportunity in the spirit in which it is given. The process of allying Houses is long and complicated, but I have no doubt that we will both benefit from any treaties we negotiate._

_Cordially,_

_Lucius Malfoy_

_Lord of the House of Malfoy_

#

Harry read the letter through again, carefully checking for hidden meanings. His eye lingered over the fifth paragraph. _'The Will and Testament of your mother and father was apparently never discovered by the Goblin in charge of their account'_. Lucius Malfoy had deliberately phrased it as if to question whether this was entirely correct. Harry couldn't help but remember the way the Goblins had ignored protocol to do as Albus Dumbledore wanted.

Harry got a horrible twisted feeling in his gut as he stared at that paragraph, reading it through over and over.

The notoriously officious Goblins somehow 'lose' Lily and James Potter's Will and Testament and so Dumbledore is made Harry's Magical Guardian, using the _'right of bequeathal'_ to hold Harry's seat, to decide who should be given custody of Harry and to take possession of Harry's Vaults.

One piece of lost paperwork gave Albus Dumbledore total control over Harry's life.

That was just too convenient to be a coincidence.

Harry's didn't believe that his father and mother would forget to make a Will. Not in the middle of a war, with their child being hunted by a madman. Even Gryffindors weren't that reckless.

"Well?!" Draco cried, practically jumping up and down with excitement.

"Um," Harry hesitated, "did our families really have Blood Feuds?"

Draco huffed and rolled his eyes. "Probably. The old families are always feuding for one reason or another. Someone's great, great, great grandfather stole someone's cow. Someone's great, great aunt started a nasty rumor. It's probably nothing too important. But being _allies_ is a big deal. It's almost like being distant family members. You look out for one another, offer advice and gifts. Give economic and spiritual guidance. And him _mentoring_ you is almost unheard of. The Malfoy's look after themselves. We tend to keep our knowledge close to the chest. Father is the most capable political seat in the entire Wizengamot. Most of Slytherin House would _kill_ to have him as a mentor."

Harry didn't think Draco was exaggerating there. "Wow," he said. "But then... why is he offering this to me?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Because you're going to be a big name and everyone knows it. You're the Boy-Who-Lived. If you go into politics, and truly excel, whoever is allied with you is going to be elevated by extension. I wouldn't be surprised if you were a future Minister or Chief Warlock in the making."

Harry's brows raised. "I don't know about that."

"Well _father_ does," Draco said with a smirk, "and father is an expert in these matters. You are a future leader, Harry, and he wants to be the one to help you get there."

Harry tried and failed not to blush at that. He wasn't sure whether he'd ever thought about himself as a leader, but he supposed that Snape had hinted that Harry would need to prepare to take a more governing role in the conflict to come, if their plan was to come to fruition.

He wasn't entirely sure if having Lucius Malfoy as an ally was a good or bad thing, but from everything Snape had told him about the man's political might, he could prove extremely valuable.

_A man like that would be better as an ally than an enemy._

Harry stared at the letter a moment, considering his options, then folded it away in his pocket. Crabbe and Goyle arrived a little later with a haul of sandwiches and pork pies stuffed into a container with an undetectable expansion charm on it. Draco grabbed a pack of exploding snap cards and the four of them played through the rest of their lunch.

#

They had History of Magic and Transfiguration that afternoon and there was no sign of Hermione. When they finally shuffled off to their final class, Herbology with the Ravenclaws, Harry was starting to worry.

"It's not like Hermione to miss classes," Harry said, wrist deep in soil as he repotted his Asphodel. "I think she might actually consider that some sort of sin."

Parkinson snickered. "Lavender told me that she heard the little Mu--Muggle-born crying in the toilets."

Harry frowned. "Which ones?"

"First floor," Greengrass said, making a cursory attempt at weeding. "She's been in there since charms."

"Hasn't anyone gone to speak to her?" Harry asked.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Stop being such a Hufflepuff."

Harry scowled at his friend but decided not to comment. After class they all went to the library and got on with their homework before the Halloween Feast. Neville was already sitting down on their usual table when they arrived.

"Happy All Hallows Eve," Neville said to them as they settled into their seats. He said it in a way that suggested he was saying something else entirely.

The other Slytherins paused then smirked and nodded. "Happy All Hallows," Zabini said, with an air of significance.

It took Harry a moment to realize what was happening.

 _Samhain,_ Harry remembered. _Of course._

The traditional families would be celebrating Samhain tonight. Neville had explained that it was next on the cyclical calendar. It wasn't mentioned in the book by Waffling, but Neville remembered his Aunt talking about it.

 _"It's a big day for traditionalists,"_ Neville told him. _"The veil between worlds is at its thinnest. The veil between the dead and the living, the world of mortals and the Otherworld. My Great Aunt Enid told me that people without the Sight can have visions and prophecies on Samhain. It's a huge deal."_

Neville smiled a little at the Slytherins and then turned back to his potions textbook, while the rest of the group took their seats. Harry settled beside the Gryffindor, grabbing his homework from his satchel.

"Hey, Nev, have you seen Hermione at all?" Harry asked.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Not this again."

Harry scowled at the other Slytherin, then turned to Neville. The Gryffindor shook his head, seeming troubled by the thought. "I hope she's okay. I know she's annoying but..."

Harry winced. "Yeah," he said. "Did you hear what Ron said as they were leaving class."

Neville grimaced and nodded. "She's not exactly... _liked_ in Gryffindor tower. I heard the girls in her dorm say some... pretty unkind things. I hope she's okay."

Parkinson made a gagging noise. "How the hell did the two of you stay out of Hufflepuff, that's what I want to know. Next you'll be calling for _group hugs_ and talking about your _feelings_."

At that point, Neville scowled. "You know, Hermione doesn't deserve the treatment you've been giving her. I thought that you'd have better things to do with your time than petty bullying."

Parkinson's eyes widened. "It's not... she's the one acting like she's _better_ than everyone."

Neville crossed her arms. "Whereas you'd never do anything that crass, right?"

Pansy blushed.

Neville turned back to his book.

The Slytherin's around the table exchanged wide-eyed, astonished looks and stayed silent for the rest of their study-session.

They came to the Great Hall a little late, stepping inside while the rest of the Houses were getting ready for the Feast to arrive. Harry gazed over to the Gryffindor table and didn't spot Hermione.

"I'll go ask if anyone's seen her," Neville said, as if reading Harry's mind.

Neville walked over to the Gryffindor table and approached Lavender Brown. There was an unheard conversation in which Lavender laughed and said something to her friends, who chortled wickedly in turn. Neville scowled and then said something short and sharp that abruptly ended their chuckling and gained the astonished attention of the entire table. Lavender was bright red with humiliation when Neville turned and walked away.

Zabini was smirking with delight when Neville stormed over to the Slytherin table. "I think we might be a bad influence on you, Longbottom."

Neville blushed a little and shrugged. "I'm gonna go check on Hermione," he told Harry. "Wanna come?"

Harry smiled. "Sure," he rose to his feet and followed the Gryffindor out the Hall and up the stairs. "Is everything okay, Nev? You're a little... different today."

Neville winced and shrugged. "Yeah, well..." he cleared his throat and scratched his neck, "my Great Uncle Algie sent me a letter."

"Oh, crap."

"Y-yeah," Neville sighed. "Let's just say it left me in a lousy mood."

"Yeah, I'll bet it did."

Neville sank and a little and glanced at Harry. "Things are getting kinda nasty with my Gran. They're... threatening to cut me off. Professor McGonagall insists they're not legally allowed to but, still..."

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered. "That must be hard."

Neville shrugged. "I guess it just..." he paused, "it just makes me sad, you know? I keep feeling like I should give up and do what she says, but..." he scratched the back of his hand, "Kingsley's been really supportive. He keeps saying I deserve better. That love shouldn't be conditional. I mean, Professor McGonagall has been great, too. But, Kingsley has a way of putting it, you know? He has a sister who's a Squib and they'd never try and cut her off or think less of her for it. He says that I shouldn't have been hurt the way I was, for _any_ reason. That they should have accepted me the way I was, whether I was a Wizard or a no-maj."

"I'm glad you're getting along."

Neville nodded. "I've been taking some potions, too. Pomfrey said that I have an overactive Amygdala, whatever that means. But anyway, I've been taking this potion to even out the stress response or something and reading books on this _Magical Meditation_ stuff. Pomfrey said something weird about _'building up metacognitive skills'_ and some other stuff I don't really understand. A-anyway, I feel a little more... well, a little _less_ terrified all the time. Or, at least, when I start to panic I can calm myself down better."

Harry smiled. "That's great."

Neville shrugged a little and grinned. "Yeah."

When they reached the bathroom, the paused outside and opened the door a crack, listening for the telltale sign of sniffling and whimpering.

Neville winced, then licked his lips and leaned forward. "H-Hermione?" He called.

There was a pause. "Neville?"

"Hey, yeah," Neville paused. "Are you okay?"

There was the rustle of toilet paper. "I-I'm fine. Y-you shouldn't be in the girl's toilets."

"We're not," Harry called. "We're just outside."

There was a long silence. " _Potter_?" She choked.

"Um, yeah," Harry winced. "Sorry, I just worried about you when you didn't show up to class."

There was a sniff. "Oh, _wonderful_ ," she cried, "come to gloat have you? How many points did you get today?"

Harry sighed. "Look, I don't dislike you. I'm sure the rest of the class doesn't really, either."

Hermione choked a bitter laugh. "Could have fooled me!"

"They don't know you well enough to really dislike you. Some are just looking for someone to pick on," Harry said. "And the others are just overreacting because you have a... well, you have a tone that kinda makes it sound like you think you're smarter than everyone else."

"No I don't!" Hermione yelled.

Neville cleared his throat. "Um, yes, Hermione. You, er, you kinda do."

"Oh..." The girl quietened, then there was the rustle of more toilet paper. "None of the girls like me," she sniffled, "they'd rather read Witch Weekly than our textbooks and all the boys think I'm a _show off_."

Harry pointedly didn't admit they were a little right.

"Nobody talks to me, outside class," Hermione choked. "I thought that if I made it to Hogwarts, I'd finally be surrounded by people who understood me. But even here, people think I'm the weird _know-it-all_. Killjoy. _Teacher's pet_. They keep pranking me and hexing me in the halls!"

Harry winced as a bad smell swept across the corridor, like rotted cabbage and gym socks.

Wow, he grimaced, and he'd thought the boy's bathroom was bad.

He held a hand over his nose and continued.

"I know its hard," he said.

"How would you know!" Hermione snapped. "Everyone loves you! Even the Gryffindors are only mad because you didn't join our House."

Harry swallowed. "I didn't have any friends growing up either, Hermione. People thought I was weird. My cousin used to spend all his free time _'Harry Hunting'_ with his friends, then breaking my nose when they found me. I know how hard it can be when you're alone, but--" he gagged as the bad smell grew stronger. "Bloody hell, what is that stench?"

Then he heard Neville startle with a choked sound. Harry felt himself be shoved into the girls bathroom and Neville slam the door shut behind them.

"What the hell, Nev!" Harry scowled.

Neville was very pale, standing between Harry and the door, he grabbed his wand and pointed it at the entrance. "T-Troll," he whispered urgently.

Harry blinked. "What?"

"'Mione," Neville hissed at the toilet cubicle. "G-get out here!"

"Neville?" Hermione's toilet door creaked open and she peered around the door. "You're not supposed to be--"

"Shh! There's a--"

The door shuddered as something large jolted against it. Neville silenced and his wand lifted, hand shaking as it pointed at the doorway.

Then a growling grunt sounded outside the door. Like a giant was struggling with the door handle.

There was the drag of something heavy against the floor.

Two stumbling footsteps.

Harry swallowed hard. Pulled out his own wand.

SLAM!

They jumped and squealed as splinters sprayed across the room. The door crashed off its hinges, sliding across the tiles.

On the other side stood a corpse grey creature, so tall its shoulders and head were hidden above the doorframe.

All Harry could see was thick, stumpy legs and an enormous wooden club, which slammed to the ground with a dull thud, where it had destroyed the bathroom door.

The smell was choking. Disgusting.

He could barely breathe as the troll crouched down. It's squat head was balding and its eyes were beady and glazed.

They all watched in horror as it hobbled inside, then straightened to its full height. It's gaze swayed across them, like it was sizing up who to eat first.

Harry swallowed and whispered. "H-how do you hex a troll?"

"Y-you don't," Neville hissed. "They're r-resistant to magic. Thick skin."

Harry hissed a crude word and the troll twisted to stare at him. Then it swirled around and took a step toward the toilet cubicles.

Hermione shrieked and froze.

"Run!" Neville yelled. "'Mione, run!"

But she was panic-stricken, her eyes wide and mouth wobbling with terror.

The troll stumbled closer, club dragging across the ground as it went. When it got closer, it lifted the weapon off the floor. It looked heavy as stone, but the Troll lifted it without any sign of struggle.

Harry swore and swallowed as an idea struck him. He pursed his lips and lifted his wand. " _Wingaradium Leviosa!_ "

The troll blinked confusedly as his club lifted higher, one hand clutched tight but it soon lifted higher than its stubby arms could reach and it gazed up at the sight.

Then, very suddenly, Harry swished his wand down and the club slammed down on the troll's head.

Neville made a stifled gagging sound at the horrifying crack that followed.

They all waited, in silence, as the troll froze, then fell forward and crashed to the floor with a mighty thwack.

All was quiet for a moment. Watching with terror for the troll to twitch or stand up.

"Is it--dead?" Hermione asked.

Harry swallowed and pinched his nose. "Uh, I dunno."

There was a yell down the corridor and voices growing closer, when they looked up Snape dashed into the room, eyes alight and wand raised, as if he were half-way toward casting a particularly nasty curse.

When he spotted Harry, he looked like it took all his self-control not to charge across the room and check on him. His free hand trembled and twitched at his side, wand still raised in the other.

McGonagall came charging in after him with Professor Quirrell behind her. The Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor spotted the troll, made a pathetic noise and sagged against the wall with his hand clutched to his chest.

"What were you thinking of?" McGonagall snarled. "You're lucky you weren't killed. Why aren't you in your dormitory?"

Harry was about to snap something less than polite when Neville jumped in first. "Wh-why is there a s-sodding _troll_ in the castle? Huh! A-answer me that first!" He cried, his shivering hands waving around the place, while he clutched his wand tight. "You really think we went _l-looking_ for the bloody thing!"

McGonagall blinked, then her mouth opened and closed and she scowled. Behind her, Snape smirked a little, then went to check on the troll. "Language, Mr Longbottom," she cleared her throat. "But... I apologize. I assumed... never mind. Why, exactly, were you here, in the _ladies lavatory_ of all places?"

Neville finally blushed at that and his furious indignation faded to something noticeably more subdued. "O-oh, yeah, er..."

"Please, Professor McGonagall, they were looking for me," Hermione said stepping forward, still shivering slightly as she emerged from the toilet cubicle.

"Miss Granger?"

The girl came trembling closer, her hands clenched into fists. "I--um," she cleared her throat, "I was upset and I came to hide out here until the Feast was done and..." she glanced at Harry and Neville, "they came to see if I was okay. If they hadn't, I would probably be dead right now."

McGonagall paled at the thought. "Well," she breathed, "let's be grateful that you are all still with us. You're very lucky, I don't know many first years who could have taken on a full-grown mountain troll. So, well, ten points each for your Houses. I think we should have a little chat before you return to your dorm, Miss Granger."

Hermione swallowed and her cheeks pinked, but Neville smiled supportively at her and whispered something as they left.

"See you tomorrow, Harry," Neville called quietly to him, waving a little.

Harry waved back and swallowed as Snape wandered over from his perch by the troll.

Quirrell was shivering beside the wall, still clutching his heart. The longer they were in the room with the man, the more his head ached.

That was odd. He'd always thought it was the stink of garlic that triggered his headaches, but he couldn't smell anything right now over the stench of troll.

"Mr Potter," Snape murmured, deliberately formal, a hint to be on their guard, "are you well enough to walk to the Hospital Ward or should I use a Stretcher Charm to escort you there?"

Harry reddened. "I'm fine, sir. Really."

Snape lifted a brow at him that spoke volumes.

Harry cleared his throat. "I'll walk."

Snape nodded, then swirled to Quirrell. "I'll leave the brute under your watch, shall I?"

Quirrell stuttered. "M-m-my watch? B-b-but..."

"Worry not," Snape sneered with cordial displeasure, "Albus should be by any minute, I'm certain. We'll get to the bottom of this unfortunate matter. _Very soon_ , I suspect."

He put his hand around Harry's shoulder and began to escort him to the door. When they were long out of sight of any people or portraits, Snape paused, cast a several spells to check the area for listeners and grabbed Harry in a crushing hug.

Harry froze for a moment, not knowing what to do.

He'd barely been held since he was a baby. The sensation always felt odd to him. Like he had no idea what to do. Out of his depth.

He felt Snape's breath shudder against his hair. Hands gripped into Harry's uniform, like he'd disappear if Snape didn't clutch hold of him.

Harry slowly wrapped his arms around the man's back. Cautious. Unsteady. And hugged him back.

When Snape finally pulled away and rose to his feet, his eyes were glazed and furious. "Detention."

"What!" Harry yelped. "What for?"

"I'm certain I'll think of something."

"You can't just--"

"I think you'll find I can."

"But, I didn't mean to--"

"No, you _better not have_ ," Snape growled. "However, I don't wish to _reward_ your foray into Gryffindor intrepidity and so you will be writing an essay on every alternative course of action you could have taken in these circumstances and I'll be teaching you a warding charm that would have kept the troll from breaking down the door in the first place."

Harry sighed and frowned. "Okay, sir."

Snape paused, then sank to his knees and stared at Harry. "Make no mistake," he said, hands on Harry's shoulders, "I am very proud and extremely grateful that you managed to survive, but Minerva was not exaggerating when she said you were lucky. Grown Wizards have died attempting to take down a troll and I fear this will not be the last time you find yourself in mortal peril. I am determined to ensure you never again have to rely on luck alone to survive."

Harry swallowed, then nodded. "Okay."

Snape exhaled a shuddering breath, then lifted to his feet. "Come, let's get to Pomfrey quickly. A prefect had to _Incarcerous_ Draco to keep him from doing something utterly stupid."

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ⚠️ SCHEDULE UPDATE! ⚠️
> 
> Hello all, I just wanted to let you know that I will be updating only on Friday's for the foreseeable future. I've been a little less productive than I'd hoped in the last few weeks, but I'm hoping to get more done over my Christmas break (time will tell). I'll keep updated when I can.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter.
> 
> Have a lovely week!
> 
> ❤️❤️❤️


	20. Chapter 20

When Harry arrived back at the common room, Draco leapt across the room, where their friends had apparently been holding him hostage at wand point, rushed at Harry then proceeded to repeatedly thwack him across the shoulder and arms.

"You reckless _idiot_!" Draco growled, adding a slap to the back of his head. "You utter _imbecile_! I'm going to _kill_ Granger! _Kill her_! After I've killed _you_! You hear me? Stupid bloody Gryffindors dragging you into their stupid bloody reckless nonsense! _No more Gryffindors_!"

Harry winced as the blonde added another slap to his shoulder. "It's not like we knew a troll was going to come after us!"

Draco kicked him in the shin.

"Ow!"

Draco sniffed, eyes glazed. He lifted his wobbling chin in the air and stormed back to the dorm room. The door slammed loudly. A warning to all who dared to follow.

Harry sighed and rubbed his eyes. "What the hell was that about?" He asked Zabini as the boy walked over with folded arms. "Is he angry with me or Granger?"

"Both. Neither." Zabini snorted. "Either way, be prepared to grovel. Congratulations on still being alive by the way. For now, at least. We'll see how much of you is left when Draco's finished with you."

"But I didn't _do_ anything!" Harry sagged. "How on earth could I predict any of this?"

Parkinson walked over and patted him condescendingly on the shoulder. "Oh, darling, it's adorable that you think that matters," she smirked. "Good luck."

The Slytherins then twirled away toward a giant haul of Halloween sweets and goodies and began plating up.

Harry huffed and paced toward the boys dorm room, he paused outside then knocked quietly on the door.

"GO AWAY!"

Harry winced, then swallowed and slowly turned the handle and peered inside.

Draco had shut the curtains around his bed and hid himself inside. Harry could hear the boy sniffing behind them.

"Um, Draco?"

The boy silenced. "What do _you_ want?"

"To see if you're alright," Harry said, slipping inside the room. "Are you mad with me?"

"Yes!" Draco yelled, then paused. "No! I--" he sniffed again. "Who runs into a stupid bloody _troll_ their first year at Hogwarts?!"

Harry pursed his lips. "I'm sorry for worrying you."

"I wasn't worried!"

"You weren't?" Harry asked, brow lifted.

"O-of course not," Draco sniffed. "I'm a _Malfoy_. We _always_ remain poised and controlled under pressure."

Harry hummed.

"We do!"

"Okay," Harry said. "Well, I'm fine, in case you wanted to know, and Snape gave me detention to dissuade any _Gryffindor-ish leanings_."

"Good!" Draco snuffled. "At least _someone_ sees sense!"

Harry smiled as a warmth spreading through his chest.

"Wh-what happened, then?" Draco muttered. "Did the troll kill Granger?"

"No."

"Did it at least mangle her?"

"No," Harry said. "It would have, but I knocked it out with its own club first. Levitation Charm."

Draco made something between a yelp and a laugh. "Idiot!" He hissed. "Next time _just_ _run_."

Harry smirked. "Neville told off McGonagall."

"Seriously?!"

Harry chuckled and told Draco about Neville snapping at his Head of House, and about the boy shoving Harry into the bathroom and planting himself between the Slytherin and the door, wand raised as if he was ready to take on the troll personally. Then, Neville giving Harry the tip about trolls being magic-resistant that led to Harry's idea.

It took Draco half an hour to calm down and finally emerge from the bed, with eyes still slightly puffy and red. Draco pretended as if nothing were wrong and escorted Harry back to the common room, with his head held high, for the first of several courses of treats.

When the Slytherin's started to disappear later in the evening, off to their mysterious Samhain celebration, Draco stayed behind with Harry and played another few rounds of exploding snap.

#

The next day, when Potions finished, Hermione shuffled over to Harry and Neville's desk, scratching the back of her hand and blushing a little. "Um, can we talk?"

Harry and Neville exchanged a look, while the Gryffindors filed out the room and the Slytherin's hung around by the door, watching Hermione cautious frowns. Draco, in particular, looked as if he was about to hex her.

The Gryffindors had watched Harry with less antagonism than usual when they arrived in the potions corridor outside that day. Apparently Neville's housemates had been tailing him asking questions, but backed off (to Neville's relief) once the Slytherin's were in sight.

Draco reluctantly forgave Neville for being a 'reckless Gryffindor', after hearing his valiant attempts to place himself between Harry and the troll, but had given the poor boy a three minute lecture in the corridor outside when the arrived. Something about not dragging Harry into anymore _'Gryffindor nonsense'_. Neville, bless him, just politely nodded and blushed red the entire time.

Harry nodded and smiled a little at Hermione. "Sure," he said. "What's up?"

She chewed her lip and straightened with determination. "I--" Hermione swallowed, "I would like to say thank you," she said, "I--I know that the two of us haven't always seen eye to eye, but you saved me yesterday and I'm... very grateful."

Harry smiled at her. "It's alright, Hermione. I'm just glad you're okay."

Neville nodded. "Me, too."

Hermione slumped with relief, then smiled a little back. "I am, thanks to you two, and... I'm really grateful that you came to check on me yesterday, too. Not a lot of people would have done that. I thought about what you said and you might... _possibly_ , maybe, have a point, about my _tone_. I'd... I'd really like to stop alienating myself."

"Well, okay then. Maybe..."

Harry wondered where he'd possibly start forging a tentative friendship with Hermione, after so much time being hated by her. She seemed genuine enough, but they didn't have much in common, other than...

"Uh, study group this weekend?" Harry said.

Hermione lit up.

#

Snape genuinely made Harry write the essay on _'alternative courses of action'_ during the Troll escapade, that Saturday. He marked it as 'Acceptable'. With several notes along the bottom about his complete failure to specify running away as a valid course of action.

"I can't just _run away_ while someone's in peril," Harry said, frowning at the Potions Master as they sat in his office. "Hermione would have _died_."

"The right thing to do in dangerous situations not always as clear-cut as it was here," Snape said, marking a NEWT paper and adding it to a pile atop his desk. "Running may not be a course of action most would consider palatable, and it may be unnecessary, in cases such as this, when there is another viable plan, but it is an option. Sometimes it is the only option.

"When under attack, one must be willing to consider _all_ the available options before deciding upon the best course of action. One day you may have to make an impossible choice between when to fight and when to run, with both decisions leading to unthinkable losses. Until then, and I truly hope you never have to suffer that agony, _always_ take a moment to consider if the wisest course is to run."

Harry swallowed. "I don't know if I could do that. Leave someone to die like that."

Snape paused, then looked up at him, a quiet glitter of regret in his eyes. "You are your mother's son in that regard and I'm grateful for it," he sighed, then folded his hands on the desk. "However, try to bear in mind that self-sacrificial behavior, the impulse to risk your life in order to save others, while noble, is exactly what the Headmaster wishes to encourage."

Harry winced. "Oh," he looked down at the paper. "Good point."

Snape hummed. "I know you are not used to being cared for, Harry, but if you'd been hurt..." Snape hesitated, his gaze fell to his clenched hands on the desk, "it... it would have caused me excruciating torment. So, for my sake, please don't let Dumbledore lure you into becoming the sacrificial pawn he wishes you to be. Running may not have been necessary in this particular instance, but it may one day save your life. You'll always be brave, I suspect, but don't _ever_ let it be at the expense of your life."

Harry swallowed. "I... I won't," Harry choked. "I'll try, I promise."

Snape nodded once, then slowly unclenched his hands and turned back to his final paper. When he'd finished writing the final scathing remark on a NEWT students essay, he settled it on the pile of others and stood up.

"First things first," the man said as he rounded his desk, "the warding. Any form of warding is normally considered an advanced level subject but, in my opinion, it is never too early to learn some of the more basic spells." He walked over to the door to his cupboard and called Harry over, pulling out his wand. "The ward I am about to show you is simple but powerful. Especially when placed on a door between you and a being or beast such as a troll, which will use physical might rather than magic to try and tear down the obstacle in its way. Watch my wand-work carefully," Snape lifted his wand and drew a horse-shoe shape as he cried, " _Resonantia tutela!_ "

The door glowed, showing it had worked. "Cool," Harry grinned.

Snape smirked slightly. "Now, tell me, in which direction was my wand-work?"

"Uh, anti-clockwise," Harry said. "So, widdershins."

Snape smirked. "Precisely. And your focus should remain..."

"On the object of intention," Harry finished.

Snape looked absurdly proud. It made Harry feel like he'd grown another foot. "Been reading _Magical Theory_ by Waffling, have you?"

Harry nodded.

"Very good," Snape said with a smirk. "No wonder you're ahead of your peers." He pointed toward the door. "How is your latin?"

"Not great," Harry admitted with a wince.

"Well, the first word of the incantation may be easy enough to guess. _Resonantia._ Any ideas?"

Harry licked his chewed lip and thought. "Resonate... like... an echo?"

"Precisely," Snape walked toward the door and threw a small slap toward it. His hand bounced back with full force. "It uses the physical force of the attacker against them. If a Troll threw a punch at this door, the force of its rebounding would knock the creature out. If it threw a club at the ward and was in the path of its recoil, the troll would undoubtedly be killed. No need for direct confrontation. Let the foolish creature bring down itself."

Harry grinned. "Wicked."

"Indeed," Snape said, then released the warding. "Now you try."

It took three quarters of an hour for Harry to get it right. Snape seemed unsurprised by that fact and very pleased when Harry finally mastered it. He smiled proudly and nodded once and Harry felt like he'd conquered a mountain.

"Very good," Snape smiled. "Now, given what I've told you, what weaknesses do you think this ward holds?"

Harry paused to think about it. "It defends physical attacks, so... is it weak against magical ones?"

Snape nodded. "Precisely. This will work on a Muggle, unless they have a key, but any Wizard or Witch, Goblin or other Being able to wield magic will be able to cast a simple unlocking charm on the door and it will fell this ward. It is a major weakness, but this ward is not designed for protection against magic wielders. Wards against Magic wielders require a much more intricate hand. Sometimes layering several atop one another, such as the one I put on the door to the third floor corridor."

"You did?" Harry's eyes widened.

Snape nodded. "After your previous escapade, with the Cerberus, I thought it best not to tempt fate with the students in the school. It has already proved extremely beneficial in keeping out... unwanted interlopers."

Harry was about ask what Snape was talking about when the Potions Master continued. "Wards to protect against magic wielders, however, will require much more advanced control of your magical core than someone your age is capable of. Though, I suspect that you're ahead of your peers in terms of control of your magical core, due to your time spent practicing occlumency."

"Oh!" Harry cried. "Okay, that makes... a lot of sense."

Snape raised a brow and Harry blushed.

"Um," Harry cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck, "I did wonder about... why other students were having such a hard time with the levitation charm."

Snape smirked. "Yes, I imagine you would find it odd. Try to think back to your first attempts to control your magic and draw it into your mind, during beginning occlumency practice, and you will find their struggles make far more sense in that context."

Harry's eyes widened. "Oh, that would be... difficult. I could barely focus my magic for a few seconds when I started."

Snape nodded. "It will be similar for most of your classmates. Control comes with age, but occlumency can often hasten the process. Or, more specifically, Magical Meditation practice does. It enhances control over one's magical core and, over time, has also been shown to strengthen control over one's emotional responses, reduce impulsivity and diminish unhealthy levels of anxiety, particularly when combined with Menscari, I've read."

"So... that's why I'm ahead of the class."

"In practical magic, most likely, yes," Snape said. "In theoretical work, it is purely down to your own work ethic and intellect. Do not diminish the toil you put in. You put more time in to your studies than most of the rest of your class combined. With the exception of Miss Granger, I suspect."

Harry felt his cheeks burn and his head dipped to stare at the floor. "Um, thanks."

Snape reached forward and gently squeezed his shoulder. Then he cleared his throat and straightened.

"Yes, well," Snape wandered back to his desk and pulled the letter from Lucius Malfoy out, "on to the next item, then."

Harry nodded and wandered over to the seat opposite. "What do you think? Should I take the mentorship offer?"

Snape drummed his fingers against the desk. "I think it holds potential, especially given our long-term plans. Draco is correct about his father being a proficient political figure. Lucius's knowledge of Wizengamot politics and Ministry maneuvering is unparalleled and could prove extremely useful in the years to come. Not to mention the benefits of an alliance. Having Lucius Malfoy actively working to further your interests could prove crucial."

"So you don't think its a trap?" Harry asked.

Snape raised a brow at his choice of words. "You sound almost as paranoid as I am."

Harry burst with a choked laugh. "Oh, er, I just meant..."

Snape smirked. "I know what you meant. It is not quite a _trap_. But Lucius undoubtedly has a plot in mind. Draco is right when he says that you have the potential to hold a position of some great power in the years to come and you have obviously garnered the man's approval and interest by already attempting to educate yourself on the matter of politics. I believe, knowing Lucius as I do, that he is attempting to put himself in a position in which he can influence your future views on certain issues. Making sure that you further the interests of the old families, rather than that of Albus Dumbledore, or the Ministry."

Harry blinked, then slowly leaned forward, lowering his voice. "You mean... _traditionalist_ issues, don't you? The old holidays."

Snape hesitated, then stared at Harry in astonishment. "Did Draco..."

"No," Harry shook his head. "Neville spotted some Slytherins picking marigolds on the Equinox."

Snape growled. " _Imbeciles_."

"Neville won't say anything," Harry assured him. "We only suspected anything because Neville spotted some stuff in _Magical Theory_ by Waffling about points in the year when magic is in flux and we all had an innocent theoretical discussion on the old holidays."

Snape rubbed his eyes, apparently not appeased by this news. He muttered something about "bloody children" and huffed dramatically before he returned to his usual poise. "Yes, well, moving on," he cleared his throat, "there are several issues that I'm sure Lucius Malfoy would prefer you were educated in, before falling prey to Ministry propaganda. There are conversations which we can have with you once you are in the Malfoy's _inner circle_ which _cannot_ be held otherwise."

Harry blinked. "The Malfoy's are... in charge of a certain... _circle_ , then?"

Snape raised a brow, smirking a little. "I cannot say."

Harry paused, there was something about the way Snape worded it. Something about the way he'd focused on Lucius Malfoy and the secrecy with which he spoke of it. Dancing around the topic, even in the privacy of the man's office.

The realization dawned slowly. "A Fidelius... He's the circle's Secret Keeper?"

Snape's smile was glowing with pride. "You constantly surprise me."

Harry scratched the back of his neck and shrugged, his cheeks aching from beaming so brightly. "So, he wants me to become an ally so that he can include me on a certain secret."

"I believe so," Snape said, leaning back with a smile. "Along with, I suspect, the obvious intentions to indoctrinate you with anti-Muggle sentiment. He will fail, of course, but he does not need to know that yet. He still believes you are _impressionable_ , which makes him believe you can be moulded to mirror his beliefs. That is something which we can easily handle. I believe that he is attempting to seek out a more neutral territory, in the conflict which he suspects is yet to come, by gathering alliances with you and likely other neutral-leaning parties."

Harry's brows rose at that. "I thought he was loyal to the Dark Lord."

Snape winced. "It is complicated," he said, licking his lips. "Lucius... he is a survivor. The Malfoy's all are. I will not say the man is... without fault. He is a killer and a bigot. But, unlike his late father, I do not believe Lucius ever truly wished to grovel at the feet of a maniacal Master. Lucius Malfoy..." Snape's gaze turned far-away and somber, "his loyalties have always been with himself and his family. He was never truly the Dark Lord's devoted servant. It is my firm belief that he joined to avoid being disowned by his father. However, he would never trust Dumbledore with his safety and the safety of his family. For good reason, I suspect."

Harry swallowed. "So... we could turn him..."

Snape gazed at Harry, then slowly nodded. "Lucius Malfoy could very well be amenable to a more... _flexible_ faction, who better serves his interests. But never forget that his true loyalties are _only_ with his family. If he sides with us, we will simply be a means to an end."

Harry nodded. "Understood."

Snape smiled at Harry. "With all that being said... I must ask, do you truly wish to continue with this?"

Harry paused. "With an alliance?"

"That," Snape said, "but also placing yourself in a position within the Wizengamot. When we were corresponding on the subject of the Wizarding government, you appeared less than impressed by the current state of affairs. No matter how useful it is, if you find the thought of contributing to it abhorrent, I will understand."

Harry winced and nodded. "No, I'm not happy about the way things are," he sighed. "I don't think it's a fair system. Having a bunch of old pure-blood families with anti-Muggle, anti-Goblin, anti-Werewolf and anti-House Elf ideals all clogging up the government and making all the laws, is just a recipe for inequality and hatred, but..." he licked his bottom lip and stared into space, "I... I want to do something about it... one day. And I don't think I can do that from the sidelines."

When Harry looked back to Snape, the Professor was smiling. "I thought you might say that," he said, voice easy with admiration. He nodded once. "Remember that, in the years to come. Power... has a way of robbing people of their idealism. Or twisting it into something else."

Harry swallowed, then straightened. "I will. I'll remember."

Snape smiled. "Well then, I think we should start crafting an appropriate reply, don't you?"

Harry grinned.

#

Draco genuinely shrieked with joy when Harry told him he was accepting his father's offer and beginning the process of brokering an alliance, then leapt at Harry and abruptly tackled him in the middle of the common room.

They both ended up sprawled on the floor with Draco grinning maniacally above him. "This is wonderful! _Finally_! Father said not to pester you, but it was _killing_ me. Now you can come to the Yule Ball! It's exclusive, you see. We've got to go shopping, I've been _dying_ to overhaul your wardrobe. I told mother _everything_. We're staging an intervention as soon as possible. You'll need dress robes and several casual outfits, of course. Not to mention more shoes. For Merlin's sake, do you only own _one pair_?"

"What's wrong with my wardrobe?"

Draco lifted a brow at him. "Other than the fact you wear the same three sets of identical trousers and shirts on rotation? And I've seen your pajamas. Those need to be _burned,_ as soon as physically possible."

Harry cleared his throat. He'd still been wearing Dudley's old clothes to bed. Jiffy had shrunk them to fit and repaired them but... they were still less than flattering. "I, um, I guess I could use some extra clothes."

Draco beamed. "Wonderful!" Then he leapt to his feet and dragged Harry to the sofa set, among the other first year Slytherins, to discuss all the Christmas arrangements. Apparently having already decided that Harry would be spending it at Malfoy Manor.

Harry tried, once or twice, to hint that he might, maybe, possibly stay in Hogwarts for Christmas break, but the comments went completely over Draco's head.

"You don't want you cooped up in this drafty old castle _by yourself_. I'm sure that--"

"Darling," Greengrass interrupted, huffing loudly, "for Salazar's sake, have you perhaps considered that Potter might _want_ to spend Christmas in Hogwarts?"

Draco barked a laugh. "Why on earth would he want to spend Christmas _here_?"

Zabini rolled his eyes. "Merlin, you're dense sometimes. Because _Professor Snape_ is here, you moron."

Harry cleared his throat and Draco froze. "Oh," Draco sank and his cheeks pinked. "Oh, um, of course. I didn't--"

"It's okay," Harry smiled nervously. "Thanks for thinking of me. I'm grateful for it."

Draco nodded and swallowed. "Um, yes, well, maybe Professor Snape will be able to take you to visit."

Harry smiled and shrugged. "Maybe. But either way, I promise that we can hang out all you like over Summer break."

Draco beamed, then spent half an hour planning out Harry's summer break; bragging about the Quidditch pitch on the Malfoy grounds, bemoaning the evil peacocks and insisting they should really do a trip to Paris and Milan, as they had the best robe-makers in Europe.

Eventually, Harry was able to sway the conversation back to the matter of alliances. Snape had answered a lot of his questions but they'd run out of time when the man had to leave for a _'prior engagement'_.

"I, uh, was wondering about Wizarding Houses," Harry said. "The way your father talked about the House of Malfoy and the House of Potter, it sound like a House was a distinct classification."

"It _is_ ," Draco said, lifting a brow. "Not every family earns the title of a House, just some Houses can have a membership of only one."

"Oh," Harry said, blinking confusedly, "how does the title get earned, then? What is the difference?"

"In a word, _tradition_ ," Draco said. "Something which is becoming _bulldozed_ more and more by Muggle culture. Wizarding Houses build upon centuries of traditions: alliances, blood feuds, pacts, debts and so on. A House is built by compacts, covenants and contracts. Both magical and non-magical." Draco smirked delightedly. "Your negotiations with father will prove invaluable experience with this, I suspect. Alliances are an enormous part of being the Head of a House, particularly if you wish to become trusted in the political sphere."

"Really?" Harry said.

"Father always says you cannot trust someone who's never forged a formal alliance. For example," Draco continued with a slight sneer, "Fudge made all sorts of _promises_ to the old families when he crawled his way into the Minister position. Handshakes and back-room deals. But as soon as he became Minister he stabbed them in the back. Father tried to warn others, but they didn't listen. People who forge alliances and stick to their agreements are more trustworthy. Their word means more because they've _proven_ it to be. Madam Bones is a much more dignified example of someone who _should_ have been Minister. She might not always agree with the Dark-aligned families, she's no traditionalist, but she stands by her word."

The rest of the Slytherins nodded grimly. "Alliances are the lifeblood of the Wizengamot," Greengrass continued. "It is not be _formally_ required to have an alliance, but if a new House wished to build the level of rapport and trust usually required to be voted in by the Wizengamot, they'd _need_ some formal alliances, pacts and mentorships otherwise they're unlikely to be trusted by a good portion of the House Seats. And if you want to get a new law passed, you'll need the same."

Harry raised a brow. "Really? The Wizengamot decide on votes based on who they _like_?"

The Slytherins shrugged, as if this was to be expected. "Father always says that the Lords of the Wizengamot vote within their interests," Draco said. "You can convince some to vote on a bill by making it seem as if it will benefit them but, if not, you'll have to do some _persuading_."

Wow, no wonder the Minister was getting desperate. Not that Harry agreed with what he was doing. Harry had read about the people Fudge had hired to positions in his office, including one vile woman who seemed personally invested in stripping werewolves of any remaining rights they had left. Fudge was no better than the Wizengamot, but at least the Wizengamot were mostly lazy and set in their ways, instead of ruthlessly power-hungry and egotistic.

Harry nodded, then chewed his lip. "So, you're next in line for the Malfoy Wizengamot seat?"

Draco looked incalculably smug at the thought. "Yes. Quite a few of us are also being trained up to hold their House's seat. Pansy and I, as well as Greengrass, Nott, Davis and Longbottom. And Zabini, I believe you hold a similar heirship to a seat on the courts in the Italian peninsula?"

Zambini nodded, a little smirk on his lips. "The council there dates back to Roman times."

The eyes of the Slytherins widened with barely-suppressed awe. Then, Greengrass rolled her eyes and scoffed. "Show off."

Zambini grinned at her.

"Anyway," Draco continued, turning back to Harry, "the points of an alliance can be discussed and negotiated by owl correspondence but it is not truly seen as final until it is spoken aloud in the witness of magic. Most other forms of contract are the same. Verbal agreements and oaths take precedent in the Wizarding World. Goblins are a bit of an exception to the rule, as they tend to infuse magic into their written contracts as standard."

"In the witness of magic?" Harry said, the words sounded more than merely ceremonial. "What does that mean?"

"It's an old belief," Parkinson said. "If a magic wielder speaks a vow, oath or pact aloud, then magic bears witness to it. If one party goes back on a their word, people believe that magic will curse their line with misfortune. Especially with Life Debts."

Harry blinked at that. "Life Debts? Really? They're still a thing?"

"Oh yes." Draco nodded emphatically. "They're a little outdated to some, but still some still occur. It's an old custom that has fallen out of practice as Muggle culture slowly overrode the traditional ways. If a member of a Wizarding House saves a prominent member of another Wizarding House, by putting themselves in a position of mortal peril, a Life Debt can be offered as gratitude."

"It's basically a form of alliance," Parkinson said. "But an alliance with one party owing gratitude to the other, so it is rather one-sided. Until the debt is paid, the owing party cannot ask formal favors or patronage from the other, but the one owed _can_. The most traditional way of earning out the debt is by saving a member of the House in turn. But life debts can also be forgiven through formal agreements, a payment or transaction and, of course, a marriage contract. Sometimes people only acknowledge a life debt after they've pre-arranged some form of compensation, to avoid setting up an alliance."

"Why would they do that?" Harry asked.

"Because of a difference in political ideology," Greengrass said, "or because they might have an alliance with another House that has a blood feud with the other party. Alliances are complicated and require work. There is such a thing as too many. You should try not to work against an ally's interests or you end up causing tension or even a blood feud. If you have too many alliances of differing interests then things can get complex. You have to be a truly _masterful_ negotiator to navigate multiple alliances."

Suddenly, Harry realized just how significant Lucius Malfoy's offer of an alliance was. And just how confident Malfoy would have to be as the Head of a House, to form an alliance with the Boy-Who-Lived while still holding alliances with Houses that sympathized with Voldemort, if not outright followed him.

Harry couldn't help but remember Snape's words about Lucius Malfoy's expertise at bartering. He'd referred to him as a _'skilled opponent'_. Harry suspected he was right.

You'd have to have nerves of steel to spin that many plates and not have them all come crashing to the ground.

Harry was almost curious to see how the Malfoy patriarch would handle it. Especially when it came to the point of negotiating. That should be interesting.

"Also," Zabini said, brow lifted, "some people prefer not to owe a debt to another House, even if it gains them an alliance. Since the alliance starts as one-sided, you don't see a lot of benefit until the debt is paid. And, though the payment is generally negotiated..." he paused, "some Houses can _coerce_ the one who owes the debt into doing something don't want to do, to pay it back. Or they can just refuse to pay off the debt and continue asking favors and patronage for _generations_."

Harry's eyes widened at that. "R-really?"

Zabini nodded.

"A Life Debt is optional, though," Greengrass continued. "Not a lot of families bother with that tradition, since it is so open to abuse. And it only counts if you're not already allied."

"Why?" Harry asked.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Because being allies _already_ means you look out for one another," he said, then grinned at Harry and bumped their shoulders together.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ⚠️ SCHEDULE UPDATE! ⚠️
> 
> Hello everyone! Thanks again for all the wonderful comments, subscriptions and kudos. You really make my day.
> 
> Just wanted to warn in advance that I'm having trouble writing at the moment and my updates may become more erratic in the future weeks. I'm hoping to keep up some steady weekly or fortnightly releases but I don't want to rush things out before they're ready. I hope you're not all too disappointment.
> 
> But, fear not. I have planned a new update on Christmas Day for you to enjoy.🎄🎁
> 
> Have a wonderful week and a fantastic Christmas/Winter Holiday break.
> 
> ❤️❤️❤️


	21. Chapter 21

Narcissa greeted him as he stepped out of the Floo, into the Entry Room of Malfoy Manor.

"Severus," she said, with a slow and hawk-eyed smile. She lifted her hand for him to press a polite kiss to. She was wearing a splendid silver silk dress with long lace sleeves and a draping lace cape that swirled across the floor like a wedding trail. "Lovely to see you again."

Narcissa never seemed to be wearing anything but her finest clothes. As if she refused to dress herself in anything but the most beautiful garments in her collection.

"And you," he replied, kissing the back of her hand. "I apologize for the delay. I was held up."

Narcissa watched him, discreetly, as if measuring him by sight. "Head of House duties?"

Severus nodded. "You look exquisite, my dear," he said, "as always."

Narcissa lifted a brow at him. "You know, you only ever seem to provide me a compliment when you're trying to distract me."

"You wound me," Severus held a hand to his chest, "if it seems that way, it is only because you always appear to know far too much."

Narcissa smiled at him. "You're utterly without shame."

"Usually."

"Come," she said, turning and waving for him to follow, "supper is ready."

The meal was a stilted, delicate affair, filled with tiny plates of complicated, delicious food and utterly contrived conversation.

Lucius spent the entirety of the first half engaging Severus in polite, stiff questions about how he was finding the first two months of the new term and how Draco was doing in his classes. The Lord was at his scheming best, circling the waters, scenting for blood.

"The first of Draco's quarterly meetings should be next week," Severus told him, almost hoping the Lord would get on with his ambush before the Potions Master expired from boredom. "I'm going to spend the time talking with him on which subjects need more work. Several of the upper years have offered to start up tutorial sessions for students behind in their classes. More than last year, in fact."

"Glad to hear it," Lucius hummed, slicing into his small steak of rose veal tonnato. "Slytherin has been blessed to have you as their guardian, Severus, I'm sure. The snakes have truly thrived under your tutelage."

"Thank you," Severus said, barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

"And Mr Potter has been benefiting from your sanctuary, I suspect," Lucius continued. "Draco seems worried about the competency of his... _relatives_."

 _Finally_ , Severus almost sighed with relief. At least when Lucius was attempting to rattle him he wasn't stupefying the Professor with insipid smalltalk.

Lucius had always preferred to lure his targets into a false security before he probed them for information. Severus had spent far too much time with the Lord for the tactic to work.

"I'm sure that Albus wouldn't dare leave the boy with incompetents," Severus said, and waited for the Lord to spit bile at the mere mention of the Headmaster's name.

He didn't have to wait long.

Few things rattled the poker-faced Lord, but Albus Dumbledore was an unfailing irritant.

"Such faith," Lucius said, voice dripping with unveiled sarcasm. "I'm rather less optimistic about Albus Dumbledore's abilities as a guardian. He's a competent manipulator and a masterful opponent in the political sphere, but," Lucius lifted a brow, "I think we both know that the stewardship of children has never been his forte."

Severus simply sliced through the meat of his veal and took a bite, letting the silence linger.

Lucius was correct, of course. Albus had always made a lousy protector of the adolescents in his care. He loved Hogwarts. The majesty and history of it. And, of course, he loved the _idea_ of being the caretaker of the next generation. But he'd always been too much of a believer in nature over nurture.

Albus Dumbledore gave up on a quarter of the student population the moment they were sorted into Slytherin. And he had, time and time again, ignored the plight of abused children. Even when the abuse led them straight into the clutches of a psychopath. Straight into the Dark Lord's army.

Albus Dumbledore was a terrible Headmaster and, though Lucius's motives for ousting the man were less than noble, they could both agree there were people better qualified for the job than him.

"I trust you are," Lucius hesitated, " _attending_ to matters."

Severus licked his lip, his grip tightening on his knife. "Aren't I always?"

Lucius hummed and nodded once, in the same regal manner Severus had spotted Draco mimicking. "I'd hoped that we might arrange for the young Mr Potter to visit the Manor, if possible, during the Christmas break. It would be an advantage to all if we could discuss certain matters in person."

"Of course," Severus nodded. "That can be arranged."

Lucius took a sip of water, watching Severus out the corner of his eye. "Wonderful," he said, almost nonchalantly. "He's an impressive boy, isn't he?" Lucius pierced the veal and sliced into the meat. "He already appeared to be aware of certain people's unfortunate tendency toward overbearing control in the matter of politics, when Draco first contacted me on his behalf. Is that your influence?"

"As much as I would like to take credit, it appears Mr Potter has more political savvy than I would ever be capable of imparting on him."

Lucius hummed. "That's a relief." Severus scowled and the Lord chuckled. "Forgive me, Severus. Yours is one of the most intelligent minds I've ever had the pleasure of working with, but you have no temperament for politics. To be frank, I suspect it bores you."

Severus rolled his eyes. "To be equally frank, it does."

Lucius smirked. "It's a shame, really. I've always suspected that someone with your intellect would thrive in the political sphere, but it might require you to behave pleasantly on a daily basis and, alas, I suspect you only treat someone to _that_ privilege when you're about to blackmail or betray them."

"Really, Lucius, you're too kind."

Lucius lifted a brow. "Sometimes, my friend, I suspect you're saving all your charm up for a rainy day. I do hope that Mr Potter is not the same."

"From the way Draco has been unceasingly singing his praises," Narcissa chimed in from the other side of the table, "I suspect not."

Severus shrugged. "He has potential in many areas. More than Dumbledore will ever attempt foster, I'm afraid."

"His mother was the same, I suppose. Full of unrealized potential," Narcissa continued in a conversation air. "And you, of course."

Severus halted.

Narcissa took a sip of wine, delicate as ever. "I suppose it would make sense for the boy to be the same," she said, "if, of course, he is your blood, as the rumor mill has been claiming."

Lucius sighed. "Darling..."

"Oh, hush Lucius," she huffed, "you're dying of curiosity, just as much as I. Sometimes it benefits to quietly orbit a subject until the truth slips free, but often it pays to be blunt."

Severus's facial muscles twitched uncomfortably as he resisted the urge to narrow his eyes. Narcissa had always been a better interrogator than Lucius. She had a way of charming or surprising her targets out of their deepest secrets.

People often underestimated her.

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," Severus said.

"That would be some feat," Narcissa lifted her glass of red wine and smirked, "given that every student and staff member in Hogwarts have been speaking on nothing else for the last two months. You are many things, Severus, but I'm fairly sure you aren't blind and deaf."

Severus's desperately managed to keep from sneering. The last time he tried that with Narcissa she'd somehow dosed his tea with veritaserum. "If you have researched the subject, you will know that it is impossible," he picked up his wine.

"Is it?" Narcissa seemed particularly amused.

"Yes," Severus sipped his wine, "as Lucius will attest, around the time of the Harry's conception, I was almost perpetually in the company of the Dark Lord's most loyal and devoted soldiers. Of whom, I'll remind you, I was a member. I haven't a clue how I could have possibly conceived a child with Lily Potter."

Narcissa lifted her brow. "One would assume the _old fashioned_ way. You're a little old for 'the talk', aren't you?"

Lucius choked on his wine, half-amused and half-horrified. "Cissy!"

The Lady rolled her eyes. "Severus is practically family, Lucius. Stop with this insufferable posturing. I agonized through enough of it this week."

Lucius massaged his temples, then sighed and nodded. "Dobby!" He barked. The House Elf popped into the room, looking as disheveled and unwell as ever. "Bring the Bellhaus Firewhiskey and three crystal tumblers to the parlor."

"Yes, sir!" The House Elf popped away.

Severus sank with relief. "Thank Merlin," he muttered as they discarded their napkins onto the table and moved toward the parlor.

About two glasses of firewhiskey in, Narcissa called for a cheese board, with two bottles of wine from their personal vineyard in Sardinia. After that, the night descended rapidly.

Narcissa spent most of it making mocking remarks about Minister Fudge, who'd dined with them that week and spent the entire time drooling over her and complementing their home with barely-concealed envy.

"There isn't enough whiskey in the world to erase the memory of Cornelius salivating," the Lady shuddered, then glared at her husband. "Never do that to me again."

"It had to be done, my dear," Lucius insisted, "the plebeian is determined to raid the Dark-aligned Houses. If I get him in our pocket, we could save ourselves a great deal of fretting in the years to come. Not to mention, pull him away from Albus Dumbledore's clutches. Eventually, I suspect the Minister will be more amenable to a _traditionalist_ persuasion."

Severus rolled his eyes. "You're wasting your time with that imbecile. Men like Fudge are in far too many pockets for it to truly benefit anyone but himself."

"Precisely!" Narcissa cried, standing to her feet and refilling Severus and Lucius's glasses, despite their half-hearted attempts to stop her. "You're better off taking a determined stance against the man. Stop slinking about in the shadows. You know he's breaking the law. He can't just _claim_ seats."

"I can't afford to make an enemy of the Minister, no matter how much I loathe him. There are still a few too many houses who'll vote to keep him in power, just to keep _Albus_ happy." Lucius spat the Headmaster's name. His brow lifted as he drank some more wine. "Better to turn him to our advantage than destroy him. Never burn your bridges."

Severus snorted. "That would depend on what waits on the other side of the bridge, my friend."

Lucius eyed him and smirked. "Says the Master of Disillusion himself. I don't know if you've burned a bridge in your life, _friend_. Too busy playing your enemies against one another."

"I've burned plenty," Severus replied, taking a sip of wine. "I just make sure my enemies don't know the path is tinder, until they find themselves drowning in the river beneath."

Lucius barked a sadistic laugh. "Remind me never to make an enemy of you."

"I'm sure you need no reminding."

Lucius took a generous swig of wine and Severus could see, from the wicked smirk that relaxed at the man's mouth, that he'd officially drank a little too much. Lucius peered at Severus with a curious leer. "I can honestly think of no more fitting irony than _you_ , the Dark Lord's favorite, fathering the boy who vanquished him."

Severus felt a shiver down his spine. "I was never the Dark Lord's favorite."

"But you _did_ father the Boy-Who-Lived?" Lucius smirked victoriously, then lifted his hand in surrender at Severus's glare. "I'll back off the subject, for now. But you _were_ his favorite. We could all see it. It drove some mad with jealousy, to see him clear the path for you to become his right hand. You, the gifted half-blood. Merlin only knows why, with the way he treated anyone with Muggle blood. Every other half-blood was languishing in the bottom ranks, but he favored you above all. As much as a man like that can favor anyone, I suppose."

Severus cleared his throat. "The Dark Lord favored the intellect and acumen I could provide his army. Not me."

Lucius hummed. "Yes. Most likely." Lucius stared across at the fireplace. "Avery told tales of you at meetings, you know? The little half-blood who could best most the Slytherin upper years. The vicious dark hexes you would shoot at any purist who dared try to intimidate you. Avery showed him all the spells you created. Bragged about your potions prowess. There's a _reason_ he ordered us to coach you for his ranks."

A horrid nausea welled in Severus's throat. The thought of that monster grooming him for his army at so young an age. Hearing of him and feeling curious. Like Severus was some kind of novelty. The capable half-blood.

He didn't like the suggestion that the Dark Lord was capable of favoring him. It scratched at old wounds. A bitter, broiling sense of unease rose at the thought. The desperate need to be loved. The desire for someone to feel proud of him.

He knew better than to believe the Dark Lord capable of those kinds of emotions.

But the delusion had never quite disappeared.

Narcissa tensed the more Lucius talked, her knowing eyes watching him curiously. Suddenly, the woman leapt to her feet. "Gentlemen," she lifted a hand as if to summon them to follow, "to the library."

Lucius lifted a brow at his wife, but grabbed his glass and did as bid. They followed the woman up the stairs and into the grand library. A stunning great room with two levels decorate in an opulent baroque style. The ceiling was carved and painted with the old Celtic gods.

Lucius barked a House Elf's name and ordered them to bring another bottle of wine. Narcissa rolled her eyes and smirked at Severus. Then, with a single finger, she called them both over to a section of the Library where the bookshelves parted in an alcove.

"Hands to yourself, Severus," she said warningly.

Severus lifted a brow. "Always, my dear," with an tone of great offense, "I am a collector of _information_ , not worldly goods."

Narcissa smirked at him. "Hence the warning," she said, then summoned a dagger and pressed the sharp tip to her finger and with a quick, song-like incantation and a flick of her bleeding hand, the alcove trembled, then yawned wide into a dark corridor, overhanging with dusty leather tomes.

The sconces burst with a dim flame. Narcissa cast a Lumos and walked through the hidden corridor, walking with a determination and familiarity that told Severus she'd long since memorized these shelves.

He followed behind Lucius, eyes trailing across the titles of the book. Most Dark, as he'd expected. Some were, most likely, the rarest in the world. The old families knew better than to keep their less-than-legal texts out in the open. Most had hidden collections, shrouded from plain sight. He felt somewhat honored at the thought they'd allowed Severus to see theirs.

He gazed eagerly as he passed. Some books were on the Dark Arts, some on the old holidays, some on Celtic traditions and lost spells.

They continue through to an octagonal room. Dark and flickering with dim candlelight. The walls were littered with bookshelves. Above them hung a sweeping domed roof.

In the centre of the room was a brass bowl sitting on a plinth, carved with runes and oozing with dark sorcery. Only when Severus stepped forward and gazed into the bowl, did he realize it's purpose.

It was a ceremonial vessel.

"Blood Magic?" He said, brow raised. "I did not take you for practitioners. The results are far too erratic."

Narcissa swept around the room, one hand lifted toward the bookshelves as she searched for her subject. "Lucius has dabbled, when necessary," she said, "but I’ve some more varied experience in the Blood Arts. Magic is magic, Severus. I wouldn't think you averse to a little uncertainty."

"Really?" Severus blinked. That seemed far more dangerous than he'd ever expected Narcissa to trifle with. Blood Magic could turn dangerous because of a single variant. Much like Potions, but far more wild. With Blood Magic, there were too many unknowns. Some claimed that practitioners were at the mercy of 'The Will of Magic'. "I did not take you for the type."

Narcissa turned and gave him a withering look. "And what type would that be?"

Severus shrugged. "It is a more... _reckless_ endeavor than most Dark Arts practitioners ever dabble with."

Narcissa smirked at that. "Yes, that it is. Far too dangerous for the average Slytherin, that is for sure. My father always called it the Fools Art. You have to have a Gryffindor sense of adventure to attempt it, that's for certain, and a strong stomach," she turned back to the shelves and traced her hand along. "I was able to make copies of these from Aunt Walburga's collection before Sirius looted it all to spite his mother."

Severus's brows rose. "He destroyed them?"

Narcissa tittered wickedly, then grinned at him. "Darling," she scoffed, "Cousin Sirius was _obsessed_ with the Blood Arts."

Severus's eyes widened. "What!"

"Oh yes," Narcissa smirked and checked a couple of the books, searching for what she needed, "like I said, you have to have a Gryffindor sense of adventure for these things. Auntie always told Sirius that only fools attempted the Blood Arts and that she'd disown him if he ever toyed with such _'reckless nonsense'_ , and so, of course, he dived right in."

Severus snorted and rolled his eyes. "Of course."

Narcissa chuckled. "He was quite adept at it, from what I saw of his work. I don't know how he kept it from dear old Albus for so long, but the Aurors had a _nasty_ surprise when they looted his flat in Camden."

Lucius snickered beside Severus, pouring more wine into his glass. "He'd gathered quite the loot for intent readings, tracking spells and magic only knows what else. It's almost a shame to see him locked up, as proficient as he'd become at the Blood Arts. There are so few competent practitioners left."

That should have surprised Severus more than it did. Sirius Black had always been a reckless idiot. Of course, growing up in a home surrounded by the Dark Arts, he'd be attracted to the one sister art that most all Dark Wizards and Witches universally agreed was needlessly dangerous and foolhardy.

It made a twisted sort of sense.

"Aha!" Narcissa cried, then snatched a book from the wall and breezed through the pages inside. She nodded to herself, then set it down on a side-table, pulled a dagger from beside the ceremonial vessel, cast a few basic cleaning charms, then pricked her finger and drew a Beorc rune and a Gēr rune, in her blood. She sang a beautiful incantation, like a siren song. Severus watched with intrigue as the book duplicated perfectly in a swell of twisting, almost liquid red magic.

Narcissa looked particularly smug as she handed the copy to him. "Unlike a Gemino Curse, this is _permanent_ copy of equal value. One of the advantages of that _reckless_ Blood Magic you scorn so much."

"Impressive." Severus smirked a little and stared at the book, opening it to the title page. _Reproductive Blood Magics_. No author name. The book was handwritten in neat script, the way only the most banned or underground subjects of magic were.

This was someone's life work. A compilation of every spell they could find on the subject from numerous written and oral sources.

As he flicked through the pages and grew more amazed.

Blood Magics may not have been formally abolished, but that was only because they were considered by the Ministry to be the Darkest Arts, by default of their unpleasant status as a form of 'Sacrificial Magic'. However, many of the spells in this book were more Light-Aligned than anything else. They aided the very creation of life. Nothing could be less Dark. And yet, it was hidden away in this Dark Arts collection, surrounded by books on how to cause pain and inflict suffering upon others.

"Although many prefer the _old fashioned_ way," Narcissa said, wordlessly healing her wound and cleaning up the blood on the tabletop and ceremonial blade, "there are a few _less_ traditional ways to conceive a child."

Severus's brows rose as he reached a section on birthing magics, different types of Blood Magic glamours or bodily alterations to conceal the paternity of a child, down to their very blood. To the point that it would trick a Gringott's test.

His mind strayed to the fading Blood Magic spell that had started all of this. He'd long suspected an advanced sort of Blood Magic glamour. Perhaps Lily had performed one on Harry. If Sirius Black was truly a Blood Arts practitioner, she might have had access to this book through him.

But why? How? He couldn't help but wonder. As much as he'd like to believe otherwise, Severus could not imagine Lily conducting an affair with him. He'd not been her type before he'd taken the Dark Mark. He doubted turning Death Eater had endeared him to her.

Then he turned the page, and there it was.

His breath caught in his throat.

Severus hadn't known how much he'd longed for this until the opportunity stared him in the face.

He pulled himself out of his reverie to regard Narcissa. "Thank you," he said, genuinely. "I am grateful for your trust."

Narcissa placed her own copy of the book back on the shelf and turned to him with a smile. "Just remember how grateful you are when you figure out the truth. And don't forget," she _winked_ , "I can keep a secret."

Severus rolled his eyes.

#

"No," Draco snarled, planting himself between Harry and the dorm room door as Harry went to leave. "Absolutely _not_."

Harry sighed. "It's just a study group, Draco."

"For _now_ ," the blonde said, eyebrow raised. "First you're just having study groups with the mud--"

"Draco," Harry's tone was warning.

The boy huffed and rolled his eyes. "With the _Muggle-born_. Then, before you know it, you'll be on a first name basis and be..." Draco shuddered, " _friends_. It's a slippery slope and I will not allow it."

"Draco," Harry sighed, "do you remember what I said to Ron on the train? About my friends."

"That he's not allowed to dictate which friends you make," Draco said, chin raised, haughty and superior.

"And..." Harry waited for the boy to figure it out, but Draco seemed determined not to. "And neither are you."

Draco scowled and sniffed, lip pouting a little as he glared at the corner of the room. "That was before we were allied Houses."

"Technically we're still not allied Houses, yet. We haven't had any negotiations."

"But we're _in the process_ of it," Draco said. "And so it is my duty to tell you that you are committing social suicide associating with that mud-- _Muggle-born_."

"My mother was a Muggle-born, Draco," Harry sighed. "I don't subscribe to the pure-blood supremacy stuff. I thought you understood that?"

" _Fine_ , but--" Draco's shoulders sank and he turned to Harry with wide, pleading eyes, then loudly whined, "but can't you find a _different_ Muggle-born, at least. There are others that aren't so..." he made a face, "utterly, infuriatingly _annoying_. She's such a show-off, always showing everyone up and pleading for attention."

Harry wondered if Draco saw any irony, any at all, at _him_ of all people, complaining about someone's attention-seeking tendencies.

"I heard there's a third year Muggle-born who is heir to a Muggle Peerage," Draco said, brow lifted. "I hear he's got contacts in the Muggle government. That could be useful. If you were to pick a Muggle-born to associate with, I could approve of him. He's a Hufflepuff, but we can forgive him that. It's better than yet _another_ Gryffindor, at least."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Draco, I'm not going around actively seeking a Muggle-born friend, like I'm, I dunno, collecting Chocolate Frog cards or something. I just... Hermione looks like she's having a hard time and could probably use a friend."

Draco's eyes wen't wide and betrayed. " _Hermione_ ," the boy cried, incensed. "You're already calling her by her first name! No! Absolutely not! I forbid it! You _can't_ be friends with her."

Harry gazed up at the ceiling and sighed. "Draco," Harry closed his eyes and occluded, then looked at the boy. "Muggles often call people by their first names long before they're friends, it's just a habit I've picked up."

"It's _not right_ ," Draco whined, "it's a slippery slope. Soon you'll be spending all your time with Gryffindors, and they're _the worst_. They got you involved with that troll business! They're a _terrible_ influence! And then, before you know it, they'll start drawing you into their whole _'Leader of the Light'_ nonsense, and then you'll spend all your time running around with Dumbledore sycophants, like Ronald _bloody_ Weasley, and I'll be..." Draco faded out, his eyes glazed and lower lip pouted miserably. He glared at the floor.

 _Oh_ , Harry thought to himself, watching the boy curl in on himself, indignant and worried.

"Look," Harry stared at the blonde, already exhausted by this conversation, "I know we didn't make it official until later, but I consider you my _very first_ friend."

Draco looked back at him, his gaze softening a little. "You do?"

"I do," Harry smiled. "I didn't really make any friends growing up and... when I met you in Diagon Alley, you were the first Wizard my own age I'd ever met."

Draco straightened a little, his lips curling into a small smile. "Really?"

Harry nodded.

"So..." Draco cleared his throat, "I'm a superior level of friend status, really. The one who ushered you into the Wizarding World."

"Exactly," Harry said, coaxingly. "Nobody else could ever hope to compete with that."

Draco straightened and smirked smugly. "I suppose not. I guess that makes me your _best_ friend."

Harry's lips tugged into a smile. "I guess it does."

Draco's shoulders relaxed after that, then he raised his chin and nodded exactly once, with the imperial air of a royal decree. "I suppose I will allow you to go to the study group. Just don't expect me to go making friends with her... and don't go adopting any more _Gryffindors_. Two is _more_ than enough."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

#

Their first study-group was stilted and awkward, full of polite queries about next week's homework.

It was plainly obvious how nervous Hermione was. Every now and then slipping into lecture mode, as if it were a habit, before catching herself and clearing her throat.

It was a little while before they started on the subject of Harry's upbringing came up. Hermione mentioned that her parents were dentists and, when she tried to explain what a dentist was, Harry told her he already knew, as he was raised Muggle.

"Really?" Hermione said, brow raised. "I'd heard rumors but I thought they weren't true."

Harry nodded. "I had no idea I was a Wizard until a staff member came to tell me. I was all set to go to The Bays Boarding School near Cambridge."

Hermione straightened, eyes wide. "You're kidding," she grinned. "I got in there too!"

"Seriously?" Harry laughed.

She nodded. "I got a scholarship."

"Me too!" Harry burst with a laugh.

"Small world," Hermione smiled. "Can you imagine? We must have sat the entrance exam together."

"Maybe," Harry shrugged. "I took the later entrance exam, though, so we might have missed each other. Did you find out you were a Witch late, then?"

"Oh, no," Hermione said. "My birthday is in September. I must have been one of the first students offered a place in our year. But my parents wanted me to have a back-up, in case I decided to study as a home student. The Ministry have a whole series of summer and home-study programs for students who can't afford the Hogwarts prices, you see. Mother and father weren't sure if they wanted me to be away from home so young. So, they made sure I had a choice. My back-up plan was to be a day student at The Bays and study magic on the weekends with a home tutor."

"I read something about home-study programs," Harry said. "Are there many students who use them?"

"Oh, lots," Neville piped in, nodding. "L-loads of families use them. Not a lot of people can afford Hogwarts prices. Some families spend pretty much all their savings getting their children in Hogwarts. Some would rather save the money and teach at home."

Harry nodded. "I suppose that makes sense."

"There's, er, a bit of snobbery about it, though," Neville admitted, wincing a little, "especially if you're not a pure-blood. If you're a Muggle-born and you haven't got a Hogwarts education, well... you're pretty much never getting a job in the Wizarding World. Maybe in the service industry but, even then, you'll be passed over for a Hogwarts graduate if they have the choice."

Hermione's eyes widened and her hand twitched as if compelled to take notes. "The prejudice is that bad?"

Neville nodded. "Even some of the Light-aligned families, to be honest. I was writing to Kingsley about it. He's got a Squib sister who married a Muggle, so he get's a different view of things. He says that even the pure-blood families who support Muggle and Muggle-born rights tend to have... what'd he call it... unconscious biases? That they kind of look at Muggle's as cute little pets or something. You know, less than human. And if they have a Squib relative, they don't treat them with the respect or dignity they deserve. Don't even bother trying to get them an education, sometimes. Still... it's better than what some of the purists get up to, I suppose."

Harry lifted a brow. "Do I even want to ask?"

Neville paled, then shook his head. "I-it's... well, it's bad. _Really_ bad."

Harry winced and swallowed a bitter taste. "Moving on..."

Harry and Hermione spent the rest of the time bemoaning the complete chaotic, outdated idiocy of the Wizarding World. Questioning the sense of sticking your head in a fireplace when you could just pick up a phone, why Quills hadn't _at least_ been replaced with dip pens and why nobody had done a risk assessment for any of their classes, including the ones where things frequently exploded.

By the end of their hour long discussion on the relationship between Muggle Chemistry and Wizarding Potions, Neville had to drag them both down for dinner.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 🎄 MERRY CHRISTMAS! 🎄
> 
> I hope you're all having a lovely holiday. Thanks again for all the lovely comments, kudos and subscriptions. I'm sorry that I haven't got around to replying to them yet, but I've had a bit of a mad week. I'm hoping to go through them after Boxing Day.
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed the chapter and that you have a wonderful week.
> 
> ❤️ 🎄 ❤️ 🎄 ❤️ 🎄 ❤️


	22. Chapter 22

The parcel came that Wednesday at Breakfast, a little while after his Daily Prophet arrived. An unfamiliar old barn owl swooped down to the table. The bird looked wisened and world-weary, but well cared for.

The owl landed carefully on Harry's shoulder, to avoid dropping onto the table. Which was oddly more manners than most owls ever bothered with.

"Er, thanks," Harry said as the owl as picked a letter and shoebox-shaped parcel that hung from string around the birds talons. The owl nodded in response and flew away.

"That's a hired owl, if ever I saw one," Draco commented beside him, glancing at his package. "Would've thought they'd have trouble getting through... you know..."

Harry nodded.

The mail wards.

The only way that a hired owl would make it through is if the Headmaster has specially altered it to recognize the signature of a particular sender and allow them through.

Which meant that this was from someone Dumbledore trusted.

The letter's parchment was discolored and the faded red seal on the back looked like it had been reused from few different wax seals, to save on the expense of buying fresh wax sticks, but it was stamped with an strangely ornate 'RJL' seal, that Harry imagined had been bought or gifted years ago, and carefully looked after.

He carefully opened it and lifted out the sheets of paper.

#

_Dear Harry,_

_I don't suppose you'll remember me, but I remember you well. Your father and I were friends, good friends, and I have always considered you family._

_There hasn't been a day that's gone by that I haven't thought about you, or worried about you. I'm sorry that it took me so long to get in touch. I convinced myself that you'd be better off without me but, if I'm honest with myself, I think that I was hiding out of shame that I did not better safeguard you and your parents._

_I can't tell you what a relief it was, over these years, to know that you were safe under your aunt and uncle's care. Though I know they are good to you and care for you a great deal, I want you to know that if you ever need me, I will always be here if you need any additional help or support, or if you just want to hear some embarrassing stories about your father's failed attempts to woo your mother (there are rather a few hilarious anecdotes I could tell you)._

_I heard from our mutual friend that your aunt and uncle didn't have many photos or keepsakes of your parents. I'm sorry to hear that. I'd not realized that so many of your family treasures and memories would be packed away in your family Vault, until you come of age. So, I have enclosed some mementos for you in the package attached. I hope they give you some small measure of comfort and joy in the years to come._

_The wand holster, you'll find inside, was made by your grandfather. He masterfully charmed it himself, and created a quick-release system so ingenious that I've always thought it a shame he didn't patent and market them before he died. Fleamont Potter liked to call himself 'a bit of a tinkerer', but I've always thought that title didn't do him justice. He had an affinity for charms and potions, and was one of few true genius's I've ever had the pleasure of meeting._

_Fleamont gifted one of these holsters to each of your father's friends during our Christmas visit to the Potter Manor in 1977. One went to James himself, but now I fear it may have been buried in your family's vault until you come of age. I would rather you have this, as I know your grandfather would love the thought of a piece of himself being there to aid you over the coming years, whenever you need it._

_To set the enchantments to you as the new owner, all you need do is place your wand inside and set it on your arm. The wand will release with a mere flex of your will and the flick of your wrist, but to send it back to the holster, you must say the word 'discedant'._

_I hope it serves you as well as it has served me._

_With all my love,_

_Remus J. Lupin_

_The Fairbairn Academy_

_Albion Mews_

_Edinburgh_

#

Harry didn't know how to feel, reading the letter. A sense of disappointment that this mysterious friend of his father had not tried to contact him before; sadness as Harry realized the man had obviously been lied to about his relatives.

But, even with his suspicion that James Potter was not his biological father, the thought of holding a piece of the Potter family history was thrilling. He set the letter down and turned to the package. It was covered in faded brown paper, tied with frayed string. Harry opened it carefully, revealing the old shoebox inside.

As Harry pulled open the box, he spotted the wand holster first. It was beautiful. Dragon-hide, shimmering with purest black scales. It shimmered with power, lingering magic that was surprisingly strong after all these years.

Ahead of him, Zabini whistled. "That's Hebridean Black dragon-hide. It's almost impossible to buy anywhere."

"Really?" Harry asked, stroking the scales and lifting it free of the box.

"Yes," Draco agreed, with no small amount of jealousy in his tone, "the MacFusty clan safeguard their dragons with particular ferocity. I read that Hebridean Black's tend to lay graveyards for their dead ancestors, so poaching is _very_ heavily punished. Father says that Hebridean dragon-hide is never sold, only gifted to those who do the MacFusty clan a great service. You can only ever buy it second hand, and people almost never sell it. They're highly prized antiques."

Harry suddenly realized something, staring at the reused wax on the seal and the old shoe box it was sent in. Remus Lupin, a man likely from little means, had been sitting on a goldmine for over a decade and never sold it.

Harry swallowed a lump in his throat at the thought.

He didn't think any gift would ever measure up to being given perhaps the _only_ true treasure in someone's entire vault.

Not to mention the sentimental value.

The way the man talked about Fleamont Potter, he'd obviously been someone Lupin looked up to.

Harry wasn't sure if he should accept a gift like this. Especially since the man probably didn't know about the possibility that he wasn't James Potter's biological son. But, he couldn't quite bring himself to put it in the box and send it back to the man.

Maybe one day, when he'd met Remus Lupin in person, and explained, he'd give him a chance to take back the keepsake. Until then, Harry would take good care of it. Treasure it.

Half the table were staring at the holster with envy as Harry loosened his school robe and tucked the wand into the sheath. He held the holster to his arm, looking for a way to tie it on, when it suddenly fastened to his arm perfectly.

Harry moved his arm around a bit, to get the feel for it, but it was utterly comfortable, as if he wasn't wearing anything at all. When he decided to test the release mechanism, he needed only to think about wanting his wand, flex his wrist, and it shot into his hand.

The Slytherin table _ooh_ 'd and _aah_ 'd over the sheer, unthinkable speed of its release.

Harry clearly said, " _Discedant_ " and it snapped back into the holster.

"Spectacular enchantments," Draco commented, brows lifted, "the craftsman really knew what they were doing."

Harry grinned. "Yeah," he said, then lifted the letter and handed it to Draco, pointing to the paragraphs at the bottom. "He did."

Draco blinked at astonishment. "Well, I'll be. That must be one of maybe only half a dozen in _existence_."

"Really?" Theo Nott asked, having emerged from his book long enough to admire the heirloom. "Who crafted it?"

"Fleamont Potter," Harry grinned, then slipped his wand back in the holster and stroked the dragon-hide in awe. "Created the enchantments himself."

Zabini whistled, impressed. "He must have been a genius. Didn't he invent Sleekeazy's Hair Potion too?"

"And a few lesser known products," Greengrass added. "He created some of the enchantments that revolutionized broom velocity in the late 1930s, but he got duped by a business partner and ended up making almost nothing for his work."

"Definitely not a Slytherin, then," Zabini smirked.

"Still wound up a multi-millionaire, though," Draco added, smirking. "Though the Potters weren't exactly impoverished, before then. They were among the richest Wizards in the world, by the time Fleamont Potter was done."

Harry finished buttoning up his robe and turned back to the box, lifting out a fat envelope that looked like it was filled with photographs.

He pulled out one and spotted his mother and father, in front of a fire, with Harry on his mother's lap and his father smiling down at Harry and holding his hand. James Potter's eyes filled with nothing but the purest love and warmth, while little baby Harry smiled back up at him with big, green eyes.

Harry barely swallowed down the tears that threatened to slip free.

This man had loved him. Loved him so much that he'd died trying to protect him. He could see it in the way James Potter smiled at the baby on his wife's lap, adoring and devoted.

Harry slipped the photograph back into the envelope and slid it into his bag, knowing that the Headmaster was watching.

Harry was fine with that.

Better to let the old man think Harry was flying into his web, playing into the Headmaster's plots.

"The Fairbairn Academy," Draco read aloud as he handed Harry back the letter, "that must be one of those homeschool academies."

"Oh, yeah?" Harry frowned, looking at the address the man had given at the bottom of the envelope. "That's for people who decide not to go to Hogwarts, right?"

"More or less," Parkinson said, sipping her tea. "There are all sorts. Some just arrange tutors. Some do weekend and summer courses for, you know, those who wish to continue in _Muggle_ education, and some have day classes for students who want a _regular_ Wizarding education, but can't afford the Hogwarts price."

"Some do extra tuition," Greengrass added. "Given our terrible choice of Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor this year, I asked father to hire a tutor this Summer."

Draco straightened. "Good idea," he murmured, "perhaps I should ask for the same."

"If that's the case, you might as well study up for next year, as well," Zabini snorted. "Hogwarts has terrible luck with DADA Professors."

Harry picked the letter from Draco's hands and read it over again. The man seemed nice enough. He seemed genuine, from what little Harry could grasp from a letter. He'd also been lied to by the Headmaster, that much was clear.

Harry wondered how this man would feel if he knew the truth of what Harry's life with the Dursleys was really like, and how Dumbledore left him there anyway.

_Wouldn't it be nice if Dumbledore incidentally lost himself an ally in his failed attempts to pull Snape and I apart?_

Harry folded the letter and slid it into his bag with the photographs.

#

"Mister Potter," a familiar voice called. He turned to see a stern faced Snape walked over to him from down the hallway, with folded arms and a furrowed brow.

"Someone's in trouble," Zabini murmured to him, smirking. Harry scowled at the boy in reply.

Harry cleared his throat, straightening and pulling on his most innocent face while the Professor stalked over. "Yes, sir?"

Snape looked more than a little miffed, his gaze flicked to Harry's arm and the boy got a sinking idea at what the cause of the man's temper was. "I need to speak with you a moment," he peered behind at Draco and Zabini, "please inform your next Professor that Mister Potter will be a little late."

Draco said a cautious, "Yes, sir," and the Slytherin's escaped without another word.

Snape was silent a moment then turned. "With me."

Harry followed the furious man down the hallway to an empty classroom, shuffling inside with his head dipped, hoping that if he faked his contrition well enough the man might have mercy on him.

The door snapped shut and Snape whirled on him. "What _on earth_ were you thinking?"

"Sir?"

"Don't give me that," Snape snarled, "you're well-read enough to have heard of cursed objects arriving in the mail and minor compulsion charms being set on letters! Your mail wards are not under your control, you should be more careful!"

Harry blinked, then reddened. "Oh..."

"Yes, _'oh'_." Snape closed his eyes and sucked in a deep, steadying breath. "Give the gifts to me for inspection. I'll have them back for our first student meeting, tomorrow after class. That is, if I find nothing suspicious that needs to be removed."

Harry pouted, but pulled the envelope of pictures from his bag and loosened his robe enough to untie the wand holster. Snape took it and then lifted a brow at him. "And the letter, please."

Harry sighed and pulled it out. When he handed it over, Snape opened it right there to glare at the name at the bottom. Harry could have sworn that the man was trying to set the letter alight with just his eyes.

"You'll give that back too, right?" Harry asked, double checking, because he was starting to think that Snape may very well try to burn it.

"Yes, _fine_ ," Snape murmured, looking a little uncomfortably like a pouting child.

Harry seriously considered whether to ask what it was about this mysterious Remus Lupin that had Snape so riled up, but decided to wait until the Potions Master didn't look like he was two steps from plotting someone's untimely death.

"I'm sorry," Harry said, instead, with genuine sentiment. "I should have been more careful. Especially with certain people around, looking to control me."

"Yes, you should have," Snape growled, then a moment later sagged, "but I suppose it is not your fault. I should have said something. This will be much easier once you have control of your account. Then you'll be in charge of your own mail wards. In the mean-time, we'll have to arrange a system."

Harry nodded. "Okay," he said, head dipping as he scratched his neck. "Sorry, I just really... I know that James Potter might not be... you know, but he loved me, and he died protecting me. It was nice to know a bit more about him."

Snape released a long-suffering sigh and rubbed his eyes as if suddenly very weary. "I... understand," he said, sounding a little as if he wished he didn't. "We can talk more on the subject tomorrow."

"Okay," Harry murmured. He sighed, with hunched shoulders and turned to leave, when Snape touched his shoulder.

Snape looked a little pained and uncomfortable, but then he swallowed down a nervous look and reached forward to wrap his arms around Harry.

Harry froze again, but this time he managed to come around sooner, long enough to awkwardly hug the man back. His eyes burning with relief.

"I'm not angry with you," Snape said quietly as he pulled away, "just worried."

Harry swallowed the urge to cry and nodded, wiping his nose. "O-okay."

Snape smiled awkwardly and cleared his throat. "Very well," he said, "I'll see you soon."

Harry nodded and said his goodbyes, fleeing back to class.

When he got there, Binns was droning through more ridiculous, pointless 'History' tidbits and half the class were falling asleep.

He took the empty seat beside Draco. "What did he want?"

Harry shrugged. "Just wants to check the stuff from this morning for curses and tampering."

Draco frowned. "Surely that's what mail wards are for."

Harry said nothing.

Draco eyed him suspiciously. He opened his mouth as if about to say something, but seemed to think better of it.

#

Severus had approximately fifteen minutes dedicated to lunch every day that week, and next week. The rest of his lunch break was dedicated to the student meetings and potions brewing.

The meetings took up a large chunk of his rota, but he'd always preferred to get through them quickly, rather than stagger them awkwardly so that some students wound up getting advice weeks ahead of others. Part of him considered delaying them to a more convenient week, but it felt too much like letting his snakes down.

Instead, he'd planned to spend his little available free time well, eating in the comfort of his office, with a perfectly-cooked minted lamb chops and colcannon, cooked by Jiffy, and enjoying the blissful solitude of his few free minutes to relax.

And so, of course, Minerva decided that would be the perfect opportunity to come intrude upon his peace.

"Oh my, what _is_ that smell?" The woman asked, peering into the room, as Severus glowered from the door to his office.

"My lunch," Severus glared, "which I plan to return to. Now, please--"

"Is that colcannon?" Minerva bustled past him into the room. "Oh, that brings back memories. My nan was Irish, you know? Taught me a wee bit of the language. How did you get the House Elves to make you this?"

Severus sighed and flicked the door shut. He took a moment to grab a phial of Invigoration Draught from his pocket and drink it down, before returning to his desk to finish the meal.

He'd have to brew more later. He'd only slept three hours last night.

"Never you mind," he told her. "What is it?"

"Well," Minerva settled in the seat opposite his desk, "Neville expressed a wish to spend the Christmas holidays with Kingsley, but I realized that, according to Hogwarts' by-laws, when a child is signed off for the holidays they return to the guardianship of the legal custodian and so, until everything is finalized, Neville needs to stay in Hogwarts, or Augusta may try to remove him from school."

Severus's brows rose. "My, my, Minerva, I do believe you're learning to think like a Slytherin." She rolled her eyes but straightened a little with pride. "What do you need from me, then?"

"Well," she pulled out a piece of parchment with several Professor's names already signed, "Neville may not be able to leave the school for the holidays, but there is no reason why Kingsley cannot come visit Hogwarts for a few days."

Severus smirked. "Honestly, you were _wasted_ in Gryffindor."

The woman scoffed and sat back with a smirk. "Kingsley has already agreed. He's planning to take a few days off work for the holidays. He would like to take Neville on two trips off the school grounds. One trip to meet the rest of the Shacklebot family for dinner and another to Diagon Alley for his Christmas gift but, so long as a member of staff is there to act as custodian, both trips can be signed off by myself. I just need the majority of staff to grant Kingsley permission for the extended visit to school grounds."

Snape held his hand out for the slip of paper and picked up his quill, signing his name in flawless script and pushing it back over to the Gryffindor Head of House. "I notice that Albus has not signed yet."

Minerva tensed, her lips tightening a little. "I thought it best to leave his input out of this particular decision."

Severus hummed. "I see." He crossed his arms. "He has not budged then?"

The woman's face twitched with a snarl. "That lavvy-heided fool _refuses_ to listen," she snapped. "I've told him time and time again what horrifying abuse the boy had to suffer under Augusta's guardianship and he will not _budge!_ I swear, sometimes I think--" Minerva stopped suddenly, clearing her throat and swallowing.

Severus leaned forward and rested his hands atop one another on the desk. "Let me guess," he said, with a simmering calm. "Sometimes you think that he does not truly care about the happiness of the children in his care, or understand the lengths to which their neglect and suffering can ruin lives. Sometimes, you wonder _why_ he chose his position here at Hogwarts, as the custodian of the next generation, when he spends so much of his career ignoring the welfare of his charges. Sometimes, you can't help but fear he's spent the last few decades maneuvering those innocents in his care into becoming his next loyal allies, and that when he sees a young, talented student, he sees not a future Master of their field, or politician, or Healer... but a soldier, fighting for either his side... or the other."

Minerva was silent, her hand clutched to her chest and her eyes glittering. Her breath was shallow and sharp.

Slowly, she nodded.

For reasons he could not fathom, Severus couldn't help but think of the damned letter. He couldn't help but remember Remus Lupin. The only werewolf to walk the halls of Hogwarts in centuries. A man permanently indebted to the one who granted him that privilege.

Yet, Harry's words on werewolf rights rung in his mind. The same man who'd granted Remus Lupin entrance to Hogwarts, sat in a position of great power on the Wizengamot, and made no effort to overturn the bigoted laws that held a boot to the neck of Lupin and others like him.

How much of Remus Lupin's schooling at Hogwarts had been a manipulation, Severus wondered. Putting someone capable of infiltrating werewolf packs in a position of obligation to Dumbledore's side.

Just another pawn. Another soldier and spy, willing to fight and die for his cause.

Severus tasted bile as he swallowed. He looked down at his plate and realized he'd quite lost his appetite.

A quiet tap on his door jolted through the silence.

"Ah," he straightened, "that will be my next student. I'm sorry Minerva, but I'll have to cut our meeting short."

The woman nodded, standing straight and smiling awkwardly. "Still doing those quarterly meetings? I don't know how you find the time."

Severus shrugged. "I have to," he replied. "To some of my snakes, I may be the only adult show a genuine interest in them and their own desires for the future." He looked her in the eye. "I always wonder if my life could have been very different, if the first adult to show interest in my future had not been a violent psychopath."

Minerva stared mournfully at him and nodded. "You're a good man, Severus. I think... perhaps better and braver than you'd ever let people know."

The woman stepped out the door and Severus vanished his lunch. He gave himself a moment to breathe before he opened his eyes.

"Enter," he called, and the next student stepped inside.

#

Harry decided not to overthink things. He could have come up with something convoluted and elaborate, but that felt more like an Albus Dumbledore plot. Harry was determined to be less slimy and shifty about his own strategies than the old man.

So, instead of all that stupid, complicated scheming, he just casually wandered over to the Hufflepuff section before Transfiguration class.

Every single badger stared in silence as he paused ahead of their tables.

"Hey," he said, as a bemused Ernie Macmillan and Hannah Abbott blinked at him like he'd lost his mind. "Quick question. Don't suppose any of you brought a football to Hogwarts, did you?"

"Football?" Justin Finch-Flechley said, eyes lighting with a spark of intrigue. "You play?"

"Sometimes," Harry lied, he'd never been allowed to play a game with the other kids at school, not without incurring Dudleys wrath. He'd always wanted to, though. "I don't know if any of the Slytherins have even heard of it though."

The Hufflepuffs chuckled. "I suppose not," Ernie smirked, "not up to date on the latest Muggle sporting crazes, I expect."

Susan Bones scoffed at him. "Neither were _you_ , before Justin talked your ear off about it."

Ernie reddened, while Justin itched in his seat with an idea. "You want a kick-around after class?"

Harry shrugged. "I figured we could ask some of the other houses. You know, set up a seven-a-side game."

Justin's beamed. "Let's do it!"

Justin approached the Gryffindors while Harry wandered over to the Ravenclaws and Slytherins. Explaining that he wanted to play a Muggle sport with a bunch of Hufflepuffs went over with his friends about as well as he'd expected.

" _Muggle_ sports?" Pansy repeated aloud. "Have you lost your mind _?_ "

"Not last I checked," Harry said. "Should I take that as a no?"

"What are you up to?" Draco glowered, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"What?" Harry asked with a smile. "I can't just be having a kick-around with the Hufflepuffs?"

Draco's eyes narrowed further and his cheek twitched.

"Well?" Harry asked the others. "Any takers?"

There were several shaking heads, but Bulstrode shrugged and lifted her hand. "I'm in."

Harry blinked in shock. "R-really?" He'd not actually expected any of the other snakes to join in. "Cool, er, I'll tell Justin."

They managed to gather up enough for a game. It didn't get anywhere near as much interest as with Widditch match, but a couple of curious Gryffindors decided they'd come watch.

Quite a few Hufflepuffs, like Susan Bones, Wayne Hopkins and Hannah Abbott, joined in the game. The rest of the teams were filled up with surprisingly competitive Ravenclaws and unsurprisingly zealous Gryffindors, including a _very_ enthusiastic Dean Thomas. Even Neville joined in, though he did trip a couple of times and his face reddened dramatically when he had to run too much.

Harry noted with interest that Millicent Bulstrode didn't need any explanation of the rules. She gave him a sly nod when she walked over to the makeshift goal, ready to play the opposite team's keeper. He could have sworn she was even smirking a bit.

They staggered the Houses between the teams (as suggested by Hannah Abbott) and Hermione ended up playing referee. Her father was obsessed with the game and so she had, of course, memorized the entire rulebook at age seven.

Harry and Bones's team was dubbed 'The Bears' and Bulstrode and Dean Thomas's team called themselves 'The Wolves'. It didn't take long for the Wolves to absolutely destroy the Bears with truly terrifying efficiency.

By the end of the game, when Harry and the rest the Bears slumped back to the castle, defeated, Dean Thomas was grinning and high-fiving Bulstrode, who hadn't let a single ball through the goal. Harry was starting to think that she'd deliberately picked Thomas's team after remembering his skill in their Widditch match.

Devious bloody Slytherin.

"What happened to House loyalty?" Harry grumbled to her.

Bulstrode smirked and shrugged. "Footie trumps House loyalty, Potter. No hard feelings."

Harry huffed and rolled his eyes while Dean Thomas barked a laugh. "Where'd you learn to play, by the way? I thought you Slytherins hated anything Muggle."

"Mum's Muggle-born," she said with another shrug. She acted like she thought it was no big deal, but her shoulders tensed slightly at the mention of her blood-status. "Gramps used to play it with me."

Thomas blinked at her in astonishment, as if he had just assumed all the Slytherins were pure-bloods and bigots. Luckily, the boy had enough sense to avoid more talk on blood politics. Instead, they exchanged their football favorite teams and bickered over which was worse.

Harry wandered over to Susan Bones and Hannah Abbott, who were laughing together with Neville. "Hey," he grinned. "Good game."

"Yeah," Bones smiled. "We should do that again. Maybe make it a regular thing. It's good to mix with other Houses."

"Good idea," Harry nodded. "The whole House division thing kind of bothers me, to be honest. It shouldn't be such a big deal to make friends with people in other houses."

"Exactly!" Abbott burst, waving her hands wildly. "It's so _silly_. Dividing people up like that."

"And dangerous," Bones added, slightly more subdued. "Auntie Amelia always says it's unwise to give people more reasons to pre-judge others. We already have enough biases and prejudices in the Wizarding World."

Harry regarded the girl curiously. "I agree."

Bones gave Harry a returning glance, then smiled and nodded.

Harry invited her and the others to join their weekend study group with Neville and Hermione. A number of Hufflepuffs and several Ravenclaws (to the surprise of absolutely no-one) jumped at the plan. The Gryffindors were _much_ less interested. They were more focused setting up a regular football match.

"See you guys later," Harry said as they separated in the dungeons.

"See you on Sunday!" Hannah Abbott called, waving wildly, while Bones fondly shook her head at her enthusiastic friend.

"Later, Potter," Justin called as they walked toward the Hufflepuff basement entrance.

Bulstrode walked beside him. Quiet, until she was sure the others were out of earshot. "So how much of that 'breaking down House divides' stuff was crap?"

"All true," Harry said with a smile, he looked at her and lifted a brow, "it's just a bonus that half of their guardians have seats on the Wizengamot."

Bulstrode chuckled and shook her head. "You're _all_ Snape, Potter."

Harry grinned. "Cheers, Bulstrode."

She paused, then said, "Call me Mill."

Harry nodded, a smirk twitching at his lips. "Call me Harry, then."

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year!!
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who left messages and kudos. I hope you all had a wonderful holiday and that you enjoyed saying a well-earned goodbye to 2020, whether it be with a bottle of bubbly, a netflix binge or just an early night. 
> 
> I wanted to let you all know that your comments and support really meant a lot to me in the last few weeks. I've been lacking inspiration, but the understanding and encouragement from all of you really helped me.
> 
> The next chapter should be up January 22nd, and I hope you all have a lovely couple of weeks.
> 
> ❤️❤️❤️


	23. Chapter 23

Draco received two letters that Thursday morning, after the papers arrived. Harry spotted his own name on one of the envelopes.

"From father," Draco murmured, slipping the letter into his own bag and acting as though it were nothing unusual at all. "I'll give it to you later."

Harry nodded. "Thanks," he said, flicking to the Financials.

Harry was reading through an article on the Ministry's latest efforts to introduce a 'Magical Services Tax', where the author, Master Bloodclaw, steamed with virulent criticism of the idea. Then Harry spotted a word in Gobbledygook that he didn't recognize.

He grabbed his quill and wrote the word down and the related sentence, where author of the article referred to the drafter of the highly unpopular tax reform proposal as _'the Stuntstybfinc'_.

Harry was fairly sure he hadn't read that word in _A Beginners Guide to Gobbledygook_. He decided to research it later and continued with the article. It was a fascinating article, in which expressed the author expressed his justified disgust at the Ministry more or less attempting to tax magic and the magical being's in-born right to use said magic to make a living.

Harry put it out of his mind as they sped off for class. After their double transfiguration lesson was finished, they wandered up to the Library and Harry grabbed the 206th Edition of _Gringotts' Gobbledygook to English Dictionary_ , before they sat down. It was a giant tome that looked ready to break the desk, but if it was anywhere it was in there.

Draco checked the perimeter for curious eyes before he grabbed the letter from his bag and slid it across the desk to Harry.

Snape had assured Harry that, in no uncertain terms, _'I trust that Lucius Malfoy has common sense and self preservation enough not to try and harm or coerce you through a letter. He has a healthy fear of the consequences. Albus Dumbledore, however, does not'_.

Harry believed him. He was certain that Lucius Malfoy would know better than to mess with someone that Snape cared about. Especially with Draco currently at school under the temporary custody of Snape.

He only wished Dumbledore had as much common sense.

Harry turned the envelope over and popped the pristine silver wax seal free and pulled out the fresh parchment.

#

_Dear Mr Potter,_

_It was a pleasure to hear back from you regarding my offer. I had suspected that you were a boy with a bright future and a sharp mind, and now I feel certain of it. I look forward to working alongside you in the years to come._

_The process of brokering an alliance is, first and foremost, about agreeing the finer points of our duties to one another. An alliance is a gentleman's agreement to offer aid, to support the prosperity, longevity, progress and integrity of a House and its descendants. However, no two alliances are exactly the same. One alliance may be born to aid the career ambitions of both Houses. Another may focus on supporting each other in a coming conflict, or to support political aspirations._

_Alliances are based upon a give and take relationship and are designed to be mutually beneficial. In that regard, every point of request which you wish to put to me, whether it be career support or backing against any political rivals, may be agreed upon and accepted only when a mutual point of aid is accepted in return. In, for example, the offer of mentorship, I would like to ask for your support in my own political ambitions in return, modest though they may be. If this point is agreeable, we would move on to the next._

_Each point of an alliance contract is written up in a non-binding agreement for the future reference of our heirs and descendants. This written agreement enables the allied houses to refer back to, adapt and alter the terms, so as to better suit the current needs of both Houses. Only after these are written and finalized, will be both approve of the alliance aloud, in the presence of one another and in the witness of magic. This is a ceremony which I hope we are able to conduct over the Christmas period. If negotiations take longer, we could arrange something over the Easter or Summer break._

_If you have any questions, please feel free to ask me. I recommend that you ask for Draco, and the other Heirs in your inner circle, to lend you books on the subject, rather than borrow from the library. After all, library accounts can be easily monitored by other curious members of staff._

_Cordially,_

_Lucius Malfoy_

_Lord of the House of Malfoy_

#

Harry hadn't considered whether his library record would be monitored, but it made sense now he thought about it. He'd have to be more careful what he borrowed in the future. At least he hadn't borrowed anything that might make Dumbledore too suspicious.

Harry grabbed his quill and wrote down the Lord Malfoy's sentence on _'support in my own political ambitions'_. It sounded innocuous enough, but Snape's words on Lucius Malfoy's skill at bartering made him look closer.

It was too vague. It could mean anything from occasionally voting on a bill the Lord Malfoy approved of, to aiding his overthrow of the government. The Lord could easily claim that _'support of political ambitions'_ meant that Harry had to vote in support or opposition to a bill that Harry found morally reprehensible. And Harry knew, from how Snape had described the man as a bigot, that Lucius Malfoy probably had some political opinions that differed wildly from Harry's.

Harry would have to look up a way to politely counter-suggest a point, to make it more targeted and less open to abuse. Maybe, if he could get Malfoy to name a specific political point he wanted Harry's assistance with, then it could avoid abuse of Harry's voting power for the Lord Malfoy's benefit.

Harry couldn't help but remember the Minister's latest attempts to raid the dark-aligned Houses. That was a point which he agreed needed to stop. From what he'd read on the subject, the dark-aligned families had been constantly threatened with raid and seizure of their property for a century, at least. It did nothing but create further animosity among those sympathetic to the Dark Lord's cause. It had to stop somewhere.

Harry knew that some of the Dark Lord's followers had slipped free after the war, but that did not mean hounding them was a smart idea. They were better off spending time fixing the Wizengamot and Ministry's broken legal system so that future trials were fairer, based on evidence and not so liable to be tipped by bribery or public opinion.

Maybe if he focused in on aiding the prevention of constant threats of raids on people's properties, he could avoid being roped into going along with anything he didn't agree with.

Harry cautiously wrote some ideas down while aligning his paper away from the curious eyes of Draco.

"Would you mind if I borrowed some of your books in alliances?" Harry asked his friend, when he turned the page to hide his musings.

"Of course you can," Draco shrugged as he flicked to the next page of a library book on charms theory, "father has practically _buried_ me in books on the subject. Help yourself."

"Great. Thanks."

Well, that was that sorted. He'd do his research later and check in with Snape about it soon. Maybe at the meeting, if they had time.

Harry picked back up the Gringotts dictionary and started reading through, searching for the word from the article. When he still had no luck, he looked through another edition, and another. Still with no success.

Eventually, they were running out of time for their free period, so Harry bit the bullet and approached the dreaded Librarian's desk. She scowled at him menacingly from behind an unmarked book that could be written on anything from tips for knitting and crochet, to advice on disemboweling your enemies.

"Um, hello Madam Pince," Harry said in his most polite tone, "I was looking to translate a word out of Gobbledygook. Do you have any spells that can help me search?"

Madam Pince huffed with annoyance. "Try the 206th Edition of the _Gringotts Gobbledygook to English Dictionary_ \--"

"I did," Harry said. "I looked through the 205th and 204th Editions, too."

Pince sighed and snapped to her feet, waving him over to follow. She stormed over to the restricted section and searched through the section on Gobbledygook. She picked up one of the dictionaries and set it on the table, then turned to him. "Word?"

Harry scrabbled to show her the piece of paper with the word on it. She scowled down at it then said, aloud, with a snap of her wand the pages shuffled until she got to the spot where the word should be.

She waited a moment, glaring at the entry, but there was nothing there. She glared down at the slip of paper. "It's not here," she said, shoving the slip of paper into Harry's hand. "Ask Professor Flitwick."

"Oh, okay. Uh, thanks," Harry said as the woman snapped up the book and stormed away.

#

Harry's last class for the day was charms so he stuck around while most of the remaining class rushed away to their common rooms.

Harry wandered over to Flitwick's desk and waited while the Professor counted the papers. It was a few seconds before he was noticed.

"Ah, Harry," Flitwick straightened and smiled, folding his hands on top of the desk, "did you have a question?"

"Er, kind of, sir." Harry twisted the piece of paper with the Gobbledygook in his hand. "I had a question, uh, about something I read in the Daily Prophet. I tried to look it up in the library but it wasn't in any of the books there and, erm, Madam Pince seemed to think you might be able to translate. Do you know Gobbledygook, sir?"

Flitwick blinked at him with an expression of shock. "I do. It's rather refreshing to be _asked_ , if I'm honest. So many wizards take one look at me and simply assume that I speak it. Even Madam Pince, I recall. Not that the topic comes up much. I'm not actually a native speaker. But I took lessons as an adult and am now considered fluent."

"Oh? Really?"

Flitwick nodded. "I received rather a wake-up call when I went to visit a distant relative. Anyway, that's a story for another time. You're learning the language, are you?"

Harry shrugged. "Basically just enough to read the Financial and Gringotts reports. You know, the financial terminology. I like Master Bloodclaw's articles. They're one of the more interesting features."

The Professor's brows lifted. "Indeed? Well, I'm pleased to hear it. That feature is one of my favorites as well. Well, I'd be happy to translate for you. Let's take a look."

Flitwick held out his hand and Harry handed him the slip of paper. There was a brief pause and then Flitwick abruptly choked on a croaked, half-buried cackle. The Professor closed his eyes rubbed them. "I see. I must admit that I haven't read today's paper yet. What was the topic?"

"The Magical Services Tax."

Flitwick snorted. "Oh yes, that'll do it."

"What does it mean, sir?"

"This," Flitwick hesitated and cleared his throat, "well, let's just say that it's one of the words you're _very_ unlikely to find in a textbook."

"Oh?" Harry frowned. "Why?"

Flitwick sighed and handed the slip of paper back to Harry. "It is a... well, a derogatory term. Specifically one which disputes the intelligence of the wizard it refers to."

Harry blinked, then his eyes widened. "O-oh," he swallowed down the urge to smirk, "that seems... bold, putting it in a national newspaper for wizards."

Flitwick grinned. "Yes, but it is so rare to meet a human that would recognize the word. The ones who would know it are likely to work alongside Goblins and therefore have enough common sense to keep quiet. Additionally, I suspect they'd think much the same as Master Bloodclaw does."

"Ah, so... the Daily Prophet haven't a clue what he wrote, then?"

"No. Master Bloodclaw's expertise in the matter of finance and the effects of politics on the international, magical and muggle financial markets, is unparalleled. There isn't a human alive who could do the same job. So, they tend to leave his work unedited and it goes straight to print. They haven't a clue what he writes. I'm honestly surprised that you understand _any_ of it. It would take quite a good deal of research for someone of your age."

Harry reddened. "Well, uh," Harry shrugged, "I've always been a curious person. I guess I don't like to back down from a challenge."

Flitwick snickered. "I don't suppose the Hat considered Ravenclaw, did it?"

Harry grinned. "It did. Said I was like my mum."

The Professor's eyes sparkled with a memory. "You certainly are," he said. "Well, my office door is always open. It's a pleasure to talk on the subject of goblin language and culture. I don't think I've had a student take an interest in Gobbledygook since Bill Weasley was studying here."

"Really?" Harry's asked. "He learned Gobbledygook?"

Flitwick nodded and chuckled. "He did," he said. "He was determined to work as a curse-breaker, you see, and Goblins are more likely to respect a wizard who speaks their language. I can tell you, my family were less than impressed with me when they found out I couldn't. The word _Stuntstybfinc_ might have come up." Flitwick chuckled to himself. "You're a very smart young man, Harry. I suspect that learning the Goblin native tongue will prove extremely useful in the years to come. Let me know if you ever want to have a chat about it... in English _or_ Gobbledygook."

Harry grinned. "I will. Thanks, Professor."

Flitwick smiled. "Any time, Mr Potter."

#

When Harry stepped inside Snape's office, the first thing he noticed was the overpowering aroma of oak and something else.

It took Harry a moment to finally recognize the subtle scent underneath, but he remembered it from toiling in Aunt Petunia's garden through hot summer days. Familiar. Almost like violets or jasmine, but not quite.

Irises.

Snape was sitting on his office chair with his eyes closed, nursing his temples as the bags under his eyes spoke of a generally bad night's sleep. On his desk were a few empty phials with the remnants of an orange potion lingering at the bottom.

"Sir?"

Snape opened his eyes and, despite his obvious exhaustion, he smiled. His shoulders sagged and he looked genuinely relieved. As if seeing Harry was the one bright spot in an otherwise grueling day. "Harry," Snape said, "come in, sit down. We've got a lot to cover."

Harry took a seat opposite the Professor's desk while the Potions Master stood up and fetched a rune-covered black box from inside a warded cupboard. "Are you sure you're okay to do this today?" Harry asked. "You look exhausted. We can save it until you've had time to sleep."

Snape waved the comment off as he murmured a quiet incantation and opened the box, picking up the wand-holster from inside, along with the envelope of photographs, Lupin's letter and an unfamiliar book, bound in worn red leather.

"I assure you this is nothing I can't handle. I admit that I might have been spreading myself thin the last few days, but I'll sleep better soon. I have a potion brewing and the base requires a lot of detailed preparation and attention. The worst of it should be done tomorrow."

"O-kay," Harry said, hesitantly, "if you're sure."

Snape nodded. "Before we move on to other matters, let's start with History of Magic," Snape said, pulling a small folder across the desk.

Harry's eyes widened. "Oh, er... you actually want to talk about schoolwork?"

Snape lifted a brow. "I take my job here seriously, Harry. I am your custodian and it's my job to make sure that you actually achieve your potential. We can move on to certain other items of interest when we've discussed why you're _failing_ History of Magic."

Harry winced and reddened, his head dipping. "Oh, er..."

Snape huffed dramatically. "I'm going to need a _far_ more substantial explanation than that. I know for a fact that you understand the subject better than most students I've ever met, so why on earth are you getting consistently poor marks on your homework essays?"

Harry swallowed. "Well... you see..." He looked up at Snape, then decided it would be better to just show him and reached into his bag to get his last two History of Magic essays.

Snape sat for a moment, staring at the first paper as he appeared to very carefully stop himself from letting his expression betray any emotion. He cleared his throat and read aloud. " _'Uric the Oddball was a mentally ill wizard neglected by his peers and left to suffer without aid or assistance from the Ministry or Hogwarts, both in his tenure as a student and a Professor. His lingering legacy as a eccentric laughing stock is thoughtless and cruel. Instead of teaching the next generation of wizards and witches about the recent Wizarding wars and conflicts, the historical subjugation of other beings and creatures, the history of the Arthurian courts and how they still effect British politics over a thousand years later, students are taught to laugh at an unwell individual who wore jellyfish hats.'_ " Snape hummed, eyes scanning down the scroll. "Marked as Poor, with a request to _'please stop using your school assignments as a medium to voice your personal opinions on educational reform'_. I see."

Harry scratched the back of his hand. "I just..." he huffed, "I do _try_ to do the assignment the way I'm told to. I always start off meaning to..."

"And then you find yourself distracted by the urge to question the usefulness of learning about soap-blizzards and self-stirring cauldrons?" Snape continued, reading the second essay. "And then, apparently, compelled to loudly proclaim the activity to be," he paused to read aloud, " _'a blatant attempt to keep those outside the old families in ignorance. To stop them from overthrowing the broken, biased system which has ruled us and our magical brethren for over a millennia, and from creating a system based on democratic rule and merit, rather than blood'_. How long has this been going on?"

Harry grimaced. "Since after I found out that Professor Binns _never_ teaches us about how the Wizengamot runs. _Not even in our NEWTs!_ And then I read that an Exceeds Expectations NEWT in history is a _requirement_ to work in most parts of the Ministry."

"I see," Snape said, lips twitching with the urge to smile. "I understand, and I truly sympathize with your predicament, but I must admit that the situation is rather out of our hands. The History of Magic curriculum is set by the Ministry, and highly influenced the Headmaster. The board are also rather unenthusiastic about more... _innovative_ variations of the curriculum. If you wanted to change it, you'd have to first make some major changes in the Ministry's attitude, then the board of governors and then convince somehow convince the Headmaster that, after several decades of working to defeat one set of radical revolutionaries, to foster a generation of new ones. I think, for now, you may have to learn how to maintain your personal opinions while still completing the assignment brief in such a manner as to improve your grades. If you want advice, I recommend you speak to Adela Bole. She's one of the student assistants for Binns this year and she has kindly offered to tutor a few Slytherin students who need extra help. She should be able to give you advice on your essay writing."

Harry sighed, then nodded. "Okay, sir."

Snape nodded, then turned back to his file. "In every other subject you're doing splendidly. There's a note here from Professor McGonagall about you being four months ahead of your peers. One here from Flitwick about having spectacular control of your magical core for your age. Potions grade is outstanding; little surprise there. You're one of the best students in your year. Hmm... Astronomy and Herbology grades could be better but still bordering on exceeds expectations, which is excellent. Better than most your class." Snape nodded to himself, fingers tapping absently against the desk. "If you want to bring those up to an O, the astronomy tutor for first years is Oliver Quinn. And the Herbology tutor is--"

"That's okay, sir," Harry said, "I'm in a study group with Neville. He's the top of our the year in Herbology. He's agreed to help me out."

Snape paused, brow lifted curiously, then nodded. "Very well. Just don't your extra study in let those subjects detract from bringing up your History of Magic grade. Now, I would normally take this time to discuss any interests the student might want to further foster, whether for career or personal reasons, but I feel we may have covered those in the last year or so. In terms of your third year electives, I will tell you now what I tell every promising student." Snape sighed. "Every year I get a cohort of students who decide to aim for twelve or even _all thirteen_ OWLs, because some idiot colleague of mine makes it sound like a good idea. Therefore, I'd like to get this discussion out the way early.

"I am _forced_ to allow students to do this to themselves, if their grades consistently achieve the highest grade. _However_ , I only allow the study of more than three electives for the top students in the year, _so long as_ their grades do not suffer as a result of over-stress. Minerva has her own... _unique_ way of enabling their studies. I prefer Flitwick's method. If students wish to take more than three electives, I request that they arrange summer study of the extra courses with a tutor or summer course, to prevent overlap and burnout during the school year. We arrange to have OWL exams for those subjects still taken at Hogwarts, to ensure the student receives a Hogwarts qualification in the subject.

"For students who are worried about money, the Muggle Studies and Arithmancy Professors are usually happy to put together a study pack for students to self-teach over the summer, and offer advice by correspondence. Though, I would like to now caution that, while twelve OWLs is _possible_ , it is extremely time consuming, arduous and arguably _pointless_. I always remind my students that _some_ electives are not worth the stress. Especially as it could threaten to bring down your grades in other subjects which have a genuine effect on your future, such as Potions and Charms. It is better, in my opinion, to be a top student of _one_ school of study than be a master of _none_. Singular excellence is usually more impressive to future employers than general mediocrity. Especially if you're looking to continue to a Mastery."

"Don't worry," Harry said, "I only want to take two electives."

"Thank Merlin," Snape told the ceiling, a weight lifting off his shoulders. "May I enquire which?"

"Study of Ancient Runes and Arithmancy," Harry said. "They seem like the hardest, though, and I've got too much on my plate already, so it seems silly to overload myself with any more."

"I praise you for having more common sense than most your age," Snape said, with visible relief. "Remember your conviction when Flitwick tries to convince you otherwise. That interfering wretch will be the death of me."

Harry chuckled. "I was thinking, though. Greengrass had this idea about hiring a Defense tutor over the summer. Maybe I could do that? Do you think that's possible?"

"I assure you, that won't be necessary," Snape said, smirking a little, "I already have a curriculum planned for the summer. I'll be teaching you Dueling and Muggle fighting, too, using various terrains and weather conditions. By the time the Summer is out, you'll be the best trained second year in Hogwarts history."

Harry's eyes widened. For some reason, the idea of a Snape-approved Defense training program brought shivers of dread curling down his spine. "Er, r-really?" He said. "What about the Magical Trace on me? I thought they only turned it off for Ministry-approved tutorial sessions."

"Oh, drat. I have been foiled," Snape said, tone lifeless, "how ever will I get around the Ministry's fool-proof Trace system? It was, after all, created by the greatest minds that Britain has to offer."

Harry huffed and rolled his eyes. "You've made your point."

"Have I? Splendid," Snape smirked. "The most important tracker is on your wand. It is easy enough to obtain a second one. The rest of the trackers can be easily tricked or dismantled."

Harry blinked. "A second wand? Is that allowed?"

Snape looked at him. "Of course," he said. "Wands are tools. Makers like Ollivander oft make it sound as if they are some sacred object which deigns to grant us power but the truth is that wizards and witches have only been using wands for the last two thousand years. Before that, all magic was performed wandlessly. Just like all accidental magic is wandless. Wands are simply tools to focus and direct our magical cores."

"Oh yeah," Harry said, "I suppose that makes sense."

Snape nodded, then picked picked up the letter from Remus Lupin and stared at the wand-holster on the table. "They're clean," he said, "no sign of tampering. No tracking spells, no compulsion charms, nothing," his gaze lingered over the name at the bottom of the letter. "It appears that Albus is most likely just looking for new sources to bring you closer to James Potter."

Harry smirked, picking up the envelope of letters and looking at one inside. "It was a stupid move," Harry said. "Dumbledore thinks that bringing me closer to James Potter will push me away from you. But all he's done is introduced me to another possible ally. I don't think this Remus Lupin will be happy to hear how the Dursleys really treated me."

There was a long silence as Snape stared at the name on the letter. "Yes," he said slowly.

Harry paused, fingers clutching at a photograph of his mother and father slow dancing in their kitchen, smiling. Snape had a look on his face that made Harry nervous. "What's wrong?"

Snape swallowed, then pushed the letter over to Harry. "Nothing. Old memories. You're right, we might have an ally in Remus Lupin, if we approach this right. One less person on Dumbledore's side is useful. We'll have to approach this cautiously, though. The Headmaster may be monitoring your correspondence with him and even if you met in person, Lupin could still be reporting back to him."

"You think so?" Harry frowned.

"I'm almost sure of it," Snape murmured, staring at the letter, "but that does not mean it is wasted to begin exchanging letters with Lupin. Keep subjects light and among what Dumbledore would approve. You could even use it as a means to lure the Headmaster into a false sense of security. Avoid the topic of your relatives and mention me as little as possible, if at all. It will aid the rouse." The Professor paused, a small grimace appearing over his face. "Ask about James Potter," he continued, looking a little green, "stories and the like... if you truly want to get to know the man, Lupin will be able to help. I didn't know James Potter the way he did."

Harry watched the Potions Master cautiously. "Are you sure you're okay with this?" Harry said slowly. "You look a little..." He swallowed. "Do you and Lupin have a history?"

Snape grimaced, then set the letter down. "We were not close friends. But, I'm beginning to wonder if we were both victims of Albus's machinations."

Harry blinked. "How do you mean?"

Snape swallowed, looking a little sick. "It's difficult to explain and I think I'll need more time to ponder on the subject." He cleared his throat and sat upright, then picked up one last item. "I have something else to discuss."

It was the book. Rough and old-looking. The cover looked warped by age, but there was also something new-feeling about it. Fresh. Magical.

"I received this from a friend," Snape said, with a sort of quiet reverence, "it is part of the reason why I have been sleeping late." He opened the pages to a particular page, hand-written and words faded. It almost looked like a family recipe book. "This book is a record of likely every type of Reproductive Blood Magic known. Many of which are now considered illegal, by lieu of being Blood Magic. It has everything. Spells for curing common diseases causing difficulty conceiving a child. Spells to blood adopt a child... spells to change their appearance."

Harry's breath caught in his lungs. "Like me?" He whispered.

Snape looked up at him, then nodded. "Like you," he said. "I know that your appearance began to shift after you returned from the hospital. Your likeness to James Potter fading. You remember what I told you about a fading spell, one the Potters cast on you at birth?"

Harry swallowed and nodded. "You don't think it was a protective spell?"

Snape shook his head, then pursed his lips. "There is a spell in here, a blood glamour, that fits. Fits your symptoms exactly. It is designed to last for a full ten years, then be reapplied before it fades. Once it is reapplied, just before adolescence, the blood glamour becomes permanent. It is so sophisticated that it would cheat a Gringotts blood heritage test."

Harry breathe in. "You think they performed it on me?"

Snape nodded, then tapped the book. "This work, there are few copies of this in existence. However, the original copy just happens to have been located in the family library of James Potter's former best friend. A secret practitioner of Blood Magic. Sirius Black."

Harry's eyes widened. "That... I read that name."

"Yes," Snape said, "he was arrested for murder. Imprisoned, after your parents deaths, for killing Peter Pettigrew."

Harry felt sick. "He was... James Potter's friend?"

" _Best_ friend," Snape said, his face contorting with a barely-buried emotion as he glanced at the letter, "he turned traitor. The less said on him the better."

Suddenly, Harry remembered what Remus Lupin had said. _"I think that I was hiding out of shame that I did not better safeguard you and your parents."_

Sirius Black must have been Remus Lupin's friend too. To lose three friends through their horrific murder, another by treachery... Harry could see why he'd hidden. Grief like that would be hard to come back from.

Harry pursed his lips. "Black... you think he gave them this book?"

Snape nodded, picking through the pages. "It is a well-known fact that Fleamont Potter and Euphemia Potter struggled to conceive. They struck lucky later in life, after Fleamont sought help from a renowned Healer in Germany, but low fertility is a common ailment in certain pure-blood families. They often pass the malady on to the next generation, sometimes worse than in the last." Snape pursed his lips as he stopped on a page, then looked up at Harry. "There is a ceremony in here... _Et Immaculatam Conceptionem_. It is often used by families who wish to use a donor father, when they exhaust all methods of healing the husband's infertility."

Hope grew in Harry's chest. His eyes ached and his hands shivered. He leaned forward, trying to look closer at the book. "You think... you...?"

Snape looked up at him and smiled. "I think so. I believe, after the night of the raid, Lily could have approached me to be a donor, to perform the spell with her. I must have obliviated the memory. I don't know whether James knew or not, but..."

"He could have blood adopted me, right?" Harry asked. "It's possible... if he had that book."

Snape pursed his lips and nodded. "It's possible," he whispered, looking up at Harry, regret in his eyes, "but we cannot be sure. Blood Magic can be unruly, unpredictable. It doesn't always work the way one wishes. He might have tried, and the spell could have failed. We cannot be sure until you take a Gringotts heritage test. But," Snape turned one of the pages and swallowed hard, looking nervous, "there is one question we can answer, in the meantime."

Slowly, Snape held up the book. It smelled of copper and parchment. The leather almost hummed with a quiet energy, like a pulse.

Magic. Blood Magic.

Harry could feel it. As if it were alive.

There was something strange about the magic. Almost comforting. Familiar.

The text was open on a particular page. As Harry took it, he spotted a list of ingredients on the top of the page, white chrysanthemum and water of the River Aletheia. There were directions listed along the bottom and onto the next pages.

A potion, Harry realized. It was a potion. One with so many steps that seemed to take weeks to complete.

Harry's gaze finally lifted to the name along the top. Faded slightly and soiled with drops of blue liquid.

 _'Paternitas Potion_. _'_

Harry took a shuddering breath and held it.

His chest ached and his fingers trembled.

A paternity potion.

A prickling itched behind Harry's eyes.

Proof.

This would give them proof.

This would give an answer to the question that had been niggling at Harry for weeks. The doubts that he'd tried to patiently ignore. An answer to the question he'd tried to pretend wasn't important to him. That he tried to pretend wasn't killing him.

Harry's eyes trailed down to the ingredients to the base and he saw it.

Oak roots.

Irises.

The smell of them still hung in the air. Harry looked up at the Professor. His gaze wide with awe. "Th-that's why you've been sleeping late," Harry whispered, "you're... making the potion."

Snape shrugged, as if it were nothing. As if it was not a great undertaking that would take weeks of detailed and meticulous work.

"It will take six weeks to brew," Snape said, "so I didn't want to delay it unnecessarily. If you'd prefer not to do the test, I understand. It's only a definitive yes or no. It will not answer the question of how or why. And we will not be able to make the results public, since it's Blood Magic, but--"

Harry leapt to his feet and bounded around the desk, dropping the book and nearly knocking the exhausted man to the ground, as he grabbed at him and squeezed him in a tear-stained hug.

Snape hesitated a moment, then cautiously wrapped his arms around Harry. His chest was still, as if he were holding his breath. His voice rumbled, slow and choked when he finally spoke. "I take it that you... want to do the test, then?"

Harry sniffed and pulled back, flushed with embarrassment. He wiped his eyes and straightening as he tried to pull himself back together, to pack away the last of his weakness. "Y-yes," Harry whispered, "please."

Snape smiled at Harry with a half-buried relief in his eyes. "I'll brew myself a fresh batch of Invigoration Draught then."

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thank you again for all the lovely comments and kudos. You all keep me motivated.
> 
> You may have noticed that I've added a series name. I was putting it off until I was absolutely sure of the name (for those of you who are curious, the meaning behind the name 'Aethelind's Legacy' will come up in book 2).
> 
> Next chapter will be up on Friday 5th February. Until then, stay safe.
> 
> ❤️ ❤️ ❤️


	24. Chapter 24

Severus dosed himself with a strong sleeping potion after finally finishing the base for the Paternity test that Friday and lay in til eight the next day. And, for his efforts, he still felt like ripe manure.

Jiffy had also hidden all his Invigoration Draught because, _"Master S needs to take better care of himself."_

He blamed Harry for this, since the young boy had encouraged the House Elf's efforts to learn to read and write. With little else to do with her time this week, she'd decided to peruse through Snape's book collection to figure out what her master was dosing himself with, then read the warnings cautioning users against regular use.

Hence, Severus had been switched to coffee that Saturday morning, _against his will_. It was barely useful at keeping him alert for his final student meeting of the morning.

"Well, I see no reason why I can't," Hercule Rutherford told him, nose turned up and arms folded. "Percy Weasley is taking twelve OWLs, and he does them all at Hogwarts. He doesn't have to hire extra tutors over the summer. Why should I?"

Severus sighed. "Do you honestly think that Mr Weasley's decision to study all his OWLs simultaneously was chosen because he decided that extra tutors over a summer were a waste of time?" Severus said. "Or was it perhaps owing to a lack of options? The school Professors offered to put together a home-study Summer pack, like the ones we provide for less fortunate students, but the Weasley household is not, I assume, an environment conducive for quiet private study. Not all students at this school are as privileged as you are, Mister Rutherford."

Hercule's lips twitched with a simultaneous grimace and smirk. It wasn't a particularly flattering expression. "Oh, well," he chewed his lip. "I still think it's unfair. I should have the same opportunities."

Severus lifted a brow. "Should you?" He hummed, then sat back. "I'm guessing that you're speaking less of the opportunity to do twelve OWLs taught entirely by Hogwarts professors, during the school year, and more of the _opportunity_ to carry a _time turner_."

Hercule did grimace then. "A time turner?" He asked, acting confused. "I don't know--"

"Rutherford, stop embarrassing yourself. You're decades too young to be capable of pulling the wool over my eyes," Severus sighed and settled back in his seat. "The average intelligent Gryffindor does not have the same _inventive_ disregard for the rules that the average intelligent Slytherin does. When a Gryffindor abuses the privilege of a time-turner, they use it to _take a nap_ or _pull a_ _prank_. When a Slytherin does, they use it to expertly plot a rival student's hospitalization during the exam period, in order to ensure the top spot in their year." Severus paused, meeting the boy's eyes. "I speak from _experience_ here."

Hercule's shoulders sank. "That's House prejudice, you know."

"That's _common sense_ ," Severus said, rubbing his eyes. "Professor McGonagall is welcome to run her lions however she likes. In _this_ house, we have the common sense not to need the aid of time turners to achieve our ends. Because it is _not_ something you will have access to in adulthood. You should start preparing yourself to work with more cunning and manage your time more shrewdly in the years ahead. And now, if that is all, I have a few things to finish up before the Slytherin v. Gryffindor match. Oh, and Rutherford,” he met the boy’s eyes, “if I hear reports of a missing time turner, I’ll know exactly where to point the Aurors."

Hercule huffed and stood up, muttered a quiet, "Yes, Professor," and walked out.

The Professor sighed and rubbed his eyes.

Severus loved his snakes. He did. But caring for a nest of vipers was no easy task. Especially not when most of them were highly venomous and deadly intelligent.

There as a soft 'pop' and he looked up to see a small letter on his desk, with a note above it, simply labelled 'SS'.

He smiled and his shoulders sank. He reached over and picked up the note, turning it over.

 _'Hope you slept well. You were looking a little peaky in class yesterday.'_ Wonderful, Harry was already getting cheeky with him. _'Thank you so much for doing this. I know you said it was no big deal, but it is to me, so... Thank you._

_'I wrote the letter to Lupin, but I wanted to get your feedback before I sent it off. Let me know what you think. HP.'_

#

_Dear Mr Lupin,_

_I can't thank you enough for what you sent. They mean so much to me. Aunt Petunia didn't have any pictures or mementos of mum and dad when I was growing up, and it means so much to have a connection to them._

_I'd love to hear anything you have to say about mum and dad. I'm sure there's lots you could tell me. Even something small would mean the world. All I really heard growing up is that I used to look a bit like my dad, and that I have my mum's eyes._

_I'll admit, I'm disappointed I didn't get a chance to meet you before, but I understand how hard it must have been to go through all that. I don't blame you for needing time to grieve, but I'm glad I finally get to talk with you. I'd love to hear more about you. Anything you want to say. Even if it's just what subjects you were best at and what House you were in._

_As for the wand-holster, I honestly don't know how to thank you. I'm not sure if I have a right to take such a valuable gift from you. I want you to know that I'll treasure it and if, one day, you want it back, I'll understand._

_With gratitude,_

_Harry_

#

It was well written. It opened up a correspondence and invited the man to have a part in Harry's life. Gave him a chance to play Harry's godfather and friend. It hinted that there was more to the story with the Dursleys but avoided disparaging them outright. He even gave a small clue about Harry's likeness to James Potter fading, to see if the man had any knowledge of the glamour.

But, reading through it, Severus couldn't help the twinge of jealousy in his chest at Harry calling James Potter 'dad'. It was necessary for the letter, of course. Even true, by blood or otherwise. But it didn't stop resentment from rearing it's ugly head.

In Harry's mind, James Potter would always be a father. Even if Severus came to earn that title, he would share it alongside the man he'd loathed. He was starting to understand that now, and it was a bitter brew to swallow.

Once upon a time, Albus Dumbledore's attempt to pull Harry away from Severus, by introducing Lupin, would have worked. Severus would have overreacted, drawn a line in the sand. Childishly made an ultimatum, and pushed Harry away as a result.

It had nearly _still_ worked.

When he first met Harry, and when they'd first exchanged letters on the subject of James Potter, Severus had found himself unable to spew the furious bile he'd thought would come so easy to him. Once, maybe, he might have. But not after he'd heard the vile filth Petunia had been telling Harry all those years. He couldn't bring himself to do the same. To _be_ the same as that bitter, cruel wench.

He had a choice and he'd chosen to keep silent. To pack away all the hate and resentment he had for James Potter and bury it deep. But, now...

Now was different.

James Potter, whether he'd been aware or not, had likely died protecting Snape's blood. Severus still doubted the man would ever have agreed to willingly raise Severus's child but, even if he'd done so unaware, he'd loved Harry. He'd died protecting Harry and Lily. And, whether Harry was truly his blood or not, Severus couldn't help but feel indebted to the man for that. Because, blood or not, Harry was Severus's son now. In his heart, the Potions Master had started to accept that to be the truth.

There was something almost fitting about it. That, in death, James Potter would find some way to gain the upper hand. To make Severus forever indebted, in a way he could never hope to repay. To _force_ Severus to grant him his forgiveness. One grand gesture robbing Severus of his right to hate the man. He could practically feel the smug bastard laughing at him from beyond the grave.

Still, Severus thought to himself, as he stared at the letter, it was probably for the best that Harry found someone else to herald James Potter's memory. As much as he hated the thought of letting Remus Lupin into his son's life, opening up the possibility of disappointment, when there was even the slimmest chance it was a trap, the wolf was the best choice for a connection to Potter.

And Harry was right, as loyal as the wolf was to Albus Dumbledore, his loyalty to James Potter trumped it tenfold. There was a possibility he could be turned into a useful ally, in the years to come. And every one of Albus's lost followers was one more step toward ousting him from power.

That was more important than any grudge could ever be.

Even so, if the wolf ever hurt Severus's son, in _any_ way, he knew of a couple dozen poisons that would put the mutt out of his misery.

#

"I don't see Madam Pomfrey!" Harry shouted over the roar of the spectators to Draco.

He'd never seen Slytherin been so animated before. They tended to remain poised and composed everywhere in public, determined not to lose their unflappable air. Today, they were a mob. Yelling instructions at the Slytherin team and screaming threats at the Gryffindors.

"She's not a Quidditch fan!" Draco shouted back over the eager Slytherins. Anything less than a mighty yell was lost by the roaring around them.

"That's not what I meant!" Harry shouted in reply. "What if someone gets hurt?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Pomfrey has better things to do than loiter about to see if some idiot falls off their broom or gets hit by a bludger! I'm sure the Professors know first aid spells!"

"What, like Hooch!"

Draco paled a little at that, clearly remembering poor Neville's broken arm. "I'll talk to father!"

Harry nodded. Of course, the boy probably only cared because he'd bragged, numerous times, about how he was going to be Slytherin Seeker next year. But it was something, at least.

Harry spent the most of the time flinching when a bludger sped too close to one of the players, or when someone did an acrobatic move that Harry was certain would make them fall from their broom. His friends laughed at his horror when Katie Bell was clipped around the back of the head by a Bludger.

"What if she has a concussion!" Harry yelled.

Draco smirked. "Even better!"

Harry scowled. "You're evil!"

Draco grinned wickedly in reply.

Angelina Johnson had just scored when it happened. A bludger just sped past the Chaser before she threw the quaffle in the hoop. The bludger seemed to slow for a moment and then, abruptly, the orb curled around, sped up and shot forwards like a cannonball.

Headed straight for the Slytherin stands.

"Uh, Draco..." Harry said, stomach sinking as the other Slytherins finished bemoaning Johnson's goal.

"What?" Draco asked.

Harry's eyes widened as the bludger rapidly closed the gap between them from the other side of the field.

Getting faster.

His eyes widened and his heart started to pound. "Bollocks."

_Crap, crap, crap._

The bludger was hurtling now. Full speed. Like a bullet.

A bullet roughly the size and weight of a bowling ball.

Aimed straight at him.

Harry jolted and jumped, shoving Draco to the ground as the bludger slammed into the seat Harry had been sitting in.

Splinters sprayed behind across their backs. Screams waved through the Slytherin stands. Students fled. Stampeding though the rows.

The bludger crashed back through the wooden stand beneath them. Curled around again. Aiming for Harry.

" _What in Hades!_ " Draco yelled, eyes wide.

"Run!"

Harry just about managed to dodge the bloody thing again when it came for him once more. It smashed another hole in the stands and Harry broke into a run.

"Harry!" Draco yelled behind him.

He could hear the whistling of the thing as it rounded through the bottom of the stands, shattering through the support beams.

Harry really hoped this structure was magically supported.

"Get off the stands!" Someone yelled. Harry wasn't sure if they were screaming it at him or someone else.

The students were still crowding around the exit, rushing for safety.

A spitting, furious Draco was being physically dragged toward the exit by Crabbe and Goyle, under the apparent direction of Greengrass, while Zabini yelled something at the players on the Quidditch pitch, gesticulating wildly.

If Harry moved to follow them to the exit now, a lot of them would be injured or killed.

He'd have to wait until it had cleared.

Harry heard a roaring sound beneath him and barely jumped away in time for the bludger to come crashing through the stands beneath him.

He ran.

His heart pounding in his ears. Throat raw, tasting like blood and bile. The whistling drew closer and he dropped into a roll, just as the thing came shooting over his head.

The bludger curled quickly, shooting back at him. He readied to duck, but--

THWACK!

Red robes rustled around ahead of him. He looked up to see one of the Weasley twins floating on a broom ahead of him, holding a bludger's bat and grinning mischievously at Harry.

"Got all the luck, ain't you snakie-chops?"

Harry huffed for breath, then shrugged.

The bludger rounded on them again and a second Weasley twin came zooming down to strike it away again.

It didn't stay away long.

"Well, this is a pickle," the second twin said, aiming his bat and knocking the bludger away again.

"I'll say," the first twin replied, "don't suppose you've got a plan, snakie-kins?"

"Uh," Harry swallowed, "I'm thinking."

The twins lifted identical brows at him. "Think fast. We've got a match, in case you ain't noticed."

Harry nodded. He gazed around at the teacher's stands. He couldn't see Snape, or Dumbledore for that matter. Or any of the teachers.

Snape could be on the way.

Or he could have missed the match.

No. Snape wouldn't have missed the Slytherin vs Gryffindor match. He didn't like to let on, but Harry could tell the Potions Master was obsessed with Quidditch. Especially with the way he'd been bragging in Harry's detention about his snakes winning the Quidditch Cup almost every year since he'd become Head of House.

_The detention. Of course!_

Harry twisted to see the exit had finally been cleared.

"I've got an idea!" Harry cried.

"Good for you." One of the twins grunted as he knocked the bludger back away. "Care to share?"

"I've gotta get to the bathroom!"

"Now?" One of the twins smirked. "You could have picked a better time to take a leak."

"Just get me inside the bathroom," Harry said. "Then keep it from breaking through the door for twenty seconds. Okay?"

The twins exchanged a 'Look', then shrugged. "Alright then."

"Sounds like a plan."

#

Severus's mouth tasted like blood. He ran like a man fleeing for his life. The pounding in his chest rising like a vicious inferno.

He thought he'd known true fear before.

Severus believed that nothing could ever compare to sprinting through Godric's Hollow, toward the remains of Lily's home. That nothing could ever compare to the dread of climbing those stairs, terrified of what he would find.

But this...

This was worse.

The moment he'd seen the bludger tear towards his son. Fast enough to kill Harry with one well positioned blow to the head, he felt a terror he'd never felt before. Thrumming through his body like dark magic.

He'd not hesitated.

He ran.

Ran faster than he ever had. Down that infernal tall tower to the teacher's box. He grabbed at the banister of the stairs and jumped a flight at or two at a time. Ignoring the pain that sliced through his knees as he did.

When he emerged to the student stands, his stomach dropped.

The entire Slytherin section of the stand was empty. Evacuated. Giant holes shattered through the wood.

No sign of Harry.

Severus hissed through his gritted teeth, searching as he ran. Eyes gazing down at the pitch below, through the holes in the stands, fearing the worst.

"Professor!" Called a voice.

He looked up to see one of the Weasley twins floating on their broom, around exit hall.

Severus dashed toward him, his throat raw. He heard a bounding sound. Like a giant knocking hard on on a door, determined to break inside.

When he got closer, he froze, then released a great, relieved breath.

The twins were floating outside the boys lavatories with amusement flickering across their faces, while the bludger repeatedly tried to slam itself into the toilet door and was furiously bounced back again with full force.

_The warding charm._

Severus almost laughed at the sight.

_Clever boy._

"Harry!" Severus called. "Are you injured?"

"No!" Harry called back from the other side of the door. "Fred and George helped me out in time."

Severus exhaled and clutched a hand to his chest. "Good," he swallowed and nodded, then turned to the twins, "eighty points to Gryffindor."

The two of them balked and gaped at him.

"Er--"

"Really?"

"Would you prefer I take them back?" Severus asked, brow lifted.

"No, sir!"

"Cheers!" They saluted him.

Severus nodded. "Get back to your game. Your teammates are no doubt losing miserably."

"Good luck, Harry," one of them called.

"Thank you, guys! I owe you!"

"No worries," one of them called back.

"Teach us that warding charm and we'll call it even!"

"Deal!"

At that, they flew back toward the Quidditch game, which was, for some reason, still underway.

Honestly, Severus sometimes wondered whether, if Death Eaters flooded the school during a Quidditch match and the world descended into madness, Hooch would keep the game going until the snitch was caught or both teams had been killed.

Mad wench.

Severus turned to the bludger and glared at it while he heard the patter of his fellow Professors rushing for him.

"What in the name of magic...?" Minerva gaped beside him.

"A simple warding charm, ingeniously deployed," Severus explained, half his eye watching for the appearance of a garish purple turban.

"I'll say!" Filius breathed, still panting from his descent. "My word, as a first year, that's no easy charm. Good show, Potter!"

"Er, thanks, sir," Harry called back. "Could someone fix the bludger now, please? I'm not sure how long the warding will stick for."

Severus lifted his wand, used a tardus charm to slow the bludger long enough to cast a reversal, then used the counter-curse.

The bludger abruptly smacked to the floor and Severus stormed forward, performed an Alohomora and ripped open the bathroom door.

Harry managed to catch himself before he fell backwards, as he'd apparently been holding himself flat against the door to keep the bludger from trying to break through the walls.

Severus quashed the overwhelming urge to clutch the boy tight and confirm Harry was really there. Instead, he lobbed every basic diagnostic charm he knew at his son.

Severus was starting to think that he would need more training than a simple course on first aid could provide him, to continue his care-taking of Harry.

It only took nine months to train as a Tier One Medi-Wizard. It might be worth the investment in time and money.

Merlin, Severus was exhausted.

"I told you, I'm fine," Harry huffed.

"I will determine that," Severus scowled at him. "Your luck is abysmal."

Harry huffed. "I know," he scowled. "I swear, someone's trying to kill me!"

Severus stared warningly at the boy, bidding him to silence and Harry froze, a fear and understanding sweeping across his face before he expertly buried it.

_Like father, like son._

"Harry," the Headmaster's voice crept through the hall behind them, "I'm pleased to see you still in one piece. Quite the unexpected adventure. I'll take a look at this bludger and determine--"

"I can do it, Professor," Severus straightened and turned to the man. "I'm sure you're busy enough."

"Nonsense," the Professor smiled, genially, "you've got quite the furor to deal with. Your snakes are bound to be in a fluster, I expect. I'll take care of this."

Severus barely kept himself from swearing.

Meddling bastard.

When Albus did test the bludger for tampering, he'd likely keep the culprit a secret until he'd finished his scheming.

The Headmaster was keeping his cards too close to the chest. He always did, but this matter in particular was infuriating beyond words. When Severus had bothered to bring up his fears, after the Halloween incident, the Headmaster had waved it off as nothing.

_"Trust me, my boy. Everything is in hand."_

Severus already had his suspicions of who had caused this incident, but he needed _proof_. Especially when the suspect had no apparent motive.

Though he was seriously contemplating simply concocting an untraceable poison and killing the bastard for what he'd almost done to Harry. The only thing that stopped him was the threat of imprisonment in Azkaban.

He could not risk it when it would leave Harry's life utterly at the old bastard's mercy. Otherwise, he probably would have done so already.

If the culprit was attempting to steal the Philosopher's Stone, that was a crime easy enough to find motive for. Plotting to murder the Boy-Who-Lived, however, required another motive entirely. One more complex than mere greed.

Severus forced himself not to look toward the garlic-stinking former Muggle Studies teacher as the sputtering fool turned the corner into the exit hall.

Something else was going on here.

#

Draco didn't hit him this time. So, that was progress.

When Harry walked over, Draco was being held at wand point by their housemates, yet again. The Slytherins had congregated on the grass outside the Quidditch pitch. Draco was whirling, hands waving and snarling furiously as he barked orders at his friends. Yelling something to Crabbe and Goyle about _'sustenance'_ , before turning on an exhausted-looking Greengrass, Davis, Zabini and Parkinson and snapping something about _'curses'_.

The moment Draco spotted Harry, he leapt into action, rushing over and dragging Harry up to the Hospital Wing, to be tested, yet again, for any kind of damage or injury. Snape came with them, but looked altogether too amused by the proceedings to bother saving Harry from the furious blonde.

Draco stood there by his hospital bedside, with his arms folded, glaring furiously at Harry as if he was considering which hex in particular he should start with.

When Madam Pomfrey gave him a clean bill of health, Draco pulled Harry down to the dungeons and into the common room. Snape squeezed Harry's shoulder as he left, with a gentle look that said he'd be in contact soon.

"What about lunch?" Harry asked, as Draco shoved him onto the sofa.

"You're _not moving_ ," Draco snarled, "do you hear me!? You're a walking disaster waiting to happen. It's barely been over a bloody week since you were attacked by a sodding troll! You're _obviously_ a walking disaster waiting to happen."

Harry huffed. "Draco--"

"No," Draco growled, eyes thinning at Harry, "you will _sit_. You will wait there, where I can keep an eye on you. Gregory and Vincent will be getting food for us all and Pansy, Zabini, Greengrass and Davis have agreed to go check the Library for our research."

"Research?" Harry blinked. "On what?"

Draco glared at Harry like he was an idiot. "What do you _think!_ Either someone at Hogwarts is trying to kill you, or you've been cursed, or _both._ Frankly, I think it's at least _partly_ curse. There's got to be some kind of a backlash to eliminating the most powerful Dark Wizard of our age. Not to mention rebounding a Killing Curse. Magic only knows what dark after-effects are clogging up that head of yours!"

Harry's hand itched toward the scar on his head, which Draco was glaring at like it personally offended him. "I'm not cursed!"

"Really?" Draco then proceeded to perform an uncanny rendition of the patented Snape _'Eyebrow of Doom'_. "Know anyone who's out to kill you, then?"

Harry opened his mouth, then choked and closed it again, sweeping his face of emotion, but clearly it was too late.

Draco's eyes widened with utter terror. "YOU DO!" He cried. "For fuck's sake! Who!?"

"Nobody!" Harry winced.

" _Don't_ lie to me," Draco lifted his wand and the murderous look in his eye spoke volumes, "I've been practicing hexes since before I got my own wand. Don't think I won't try a few out on you."

"Look," Harry huffed, rubbing his eyes, "I don't know, okay? I mean... it's complicated. He didn't say anything, but I think Snape thinks someone's trying to kill me."

Other than Dumbledore. The Headmaster didn't really want to kill Harry, he supposed. Probably just wanted him to walk onto a battlefield and die for the cause.

This felt like someone else.

Draco slowly lowered his wand. "So," he said, "there's a possibility that someone at this school is after you?"

Harry shrugged. "I guess so," he said. "Snape looked as if he hadn't ruled it out. And that bludger had clearly been hexed to hit me. That feels malicious."

Draco frowned. "I suppose it is probable, given who you are. But it is unlikely that Professor Snape will be willing to share theories around."

Harry shrugged. "Look, I'm sure he'll give me more information later. But we can't go around telling anyone. It might hinder his investigation."

Draco winced and nodded, tapping his foot. "That's true, I suppose. It's hard to tell who might be responsible, in this circumstance. One might assume a follower of the Dark Lord, but the only former Death Eaters at the match were Lord Flint and, well..." Draco winced and waved a hand absently, "you know."

And Snape.

Harry grimaced and nodded. "Yeah. So why's Flint out?"

Draco shrugged. "I don't think even the Flint's would be idiotic enough to target _Severus Snape's son_. That's a feud he'd _undoubtedly_ want to avoid."

Harry's eyes widened. "Er, really? They... they're scared of him?"

Draco snorted and smirked at Harry. "Nobody wants to make an enemy of Severus Snape. Even _my_ father wouldn't. There's a reason he made Professor Snape my godfather."

"Snape's your godfather? I didn't know that."

"Oh, yes," Draco shrugged. "Not exactly the spoiling kind, but he was good at giving advice. I used to call him _Uncle Sev_. He hated it, of course."

Harry smiled, but it felt forced. Something inside his chest ached at the thought of Snape being a father figure to someone else, while Harry had been growing up alone and hated.

"Anyway," Draco said, pacing back and forth, "if Flint is out, then we'll have to explore all the other reasons someone might be targeting you. They'd have to be either a highly competent NEWT level student or a Profess..." Draco stopped, his eyes narrowing as he stared off at the corner of the room, thoughts churning. "Hmm."

"Er, Draco," Harry cleared his throat, "I'm pretty sure Snape already has someone in mind."

Draco straightened. "He does?" He asked, then huffed. "Of course he does. He knows everything," then he stared off into the distance, scowling a little as if forming a plan. Harry was about to ask the blonde what he was up to now when Crabbe and Goyle stepped through into the common room with giant containers full of food.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Hope you enjoyed the chapter 😊
> 
> I just wanted to say a huge thank you to everyone who has left messages for me over the last few weeks. I'm so sorry that I haven't had time to reply to many recently, I've been a little out of sorts, but I love all the wonderful support you've been sending me and it brings a huge smile to my face every time I open an email with a comment from a happy reader. Should be sending out replies soon.
> 
> I'm planning to update the next chapter in a fortnight, on Friday 19th February. Until then, have a wonderful couple of weeks!
> 
> ❤️ ❤️ ❤️


	25. Chapter 25

Draco was suspiciously agreeable when Harry refused to hide in the common room on Sunday morning. The blonde just shrugged.

"You're not going to argue?" Harry frowned at his friend.

Draco huffed. "I can't lock you in the dungeon forever," he said. "We've got classes tomorrow, after all."

Harry smelled a plot, but stayed silent on the matter for the moment.

When Harry had finished eating and said his goodbye's to his fellow Slytherins, he got up to head for the Library. Except, he found himself with a couple shadows.

Three, to be exact.

"Er... what are you doing?" Harry asked, as Mill, Zabini and Nott coasted alongside him through the corridors to the main staircase.

"Visiting the library with our dear friend," Zabini said casually, as if this behavior were normal as anything.

Harry blinked at him. "You remember what study group I'm meeting with today... right?"

Zabini rolled his eyes. "Vaguely."

Harry got an awful feeling. "You're not here to kidnap me for Draco and lock me back in the dungeon, are you?"

"Not today," Nott replied, not once looking up from his book.

Harry watched the three snakes carefully out the corner of his eye. "You're can't stop me from going, you know?"

"We know," Mill shrugged.

Harry narrowed his eyes at his friends. "You'll be... polite?"

"I'm offended you'd ever expect otherwise," Zabini scoffed. "I will, as always, be the _perfect_ example of pure-blood decorum."

Mill, Harry and Nott simultaneously rolled their eyes.

When they arrived at the library, everyone was there already. Hermione and Neville were whispering furiously with Susan Bones, Hannah Abbott and a cohort of Ravenclaws. When they spotted him, several jumped to their feet. Hermione rushed over with a book clutched in her hands.

Beside him, Nott stiffened, but remained silent. Zabini straightened and his eye gazed over the study-group appraisingly, as if inspecting their breeding by sight.

Mill didn't seem bothered in the least. She just wandered over to Justin Finch-Fletchley, who'd brought what looked like a footie magazine and started a conversation with the bewildered Hufflepuff.

"Harry! Are you okay?" Hermione gasped, eyes wide. "Professor McGonagall said you weren't injured, but you weren't at lunch or dinner in the hall yesterday and gosh, I was so worried! I can't believe it! It was just _horrible_ seeing that bludger tear toward you like that, you must have been scared stiff. Listen, I've been thinking, Dumbledore told the students it was just a rogue bludger, a problem with the charms work, but I'm still convinced it was malicious. He probably just didn't want to panic anybody. Anyway, I was in the library all afternoon yesterday, looking for the spell that did it. I think I've found the one the perpetrator used."

Zabini and Nott cautiously leaned over to look at the book, exchanging a curious look.

"You did?" Zabini asked.

Hermione nodded, she opened the book up on a page and skimmed down to a line along the middle. "The Prosequor Charm. It was hard to find, at first. I checked the DADA books, but then I realized that I'd seen the charm before. At Diagon Alley, they had a paddle and ball game that uses the same charm."

Nott's eyes lit with a realization. "Of _course_ ," he murmured.

"Why didn't I think of that?" Zabini groused.

Hermione handed the book to Nott and showed him the page. "The Charm works by following the signature on the charmed counterpart, so I'm thinking that the culprit must have slipped past Harry before the match and used a sticking Charm to attach something to his robes."

Nott hummed and nodded, fingering through the pages absently. "It was so crowded in the hallways before the match, though. Anyone could have done that."

"But only so many people have access to the bludger, though," Hermione said. "They keep those behind keyed wards."

Zabini looked over at her with a vague and begrudging approval, while Nott fingered through the book. "Few of them with actual motive, though," Nott said.

"Oh!" Hermione gasped, then waved them toward the table. "I've got a list!"

Zabini and Nott exchanged another 'Look' and followed her over to the far side of the table, where she'd written a list of possible suspects out on a depressingly long length of parchment.

Harry got the impression he should follow them, to keep an eye on whatever horrifying alliance was about to happen, but Hannah Abbott launched at him, anxiously looking him over for signs of injury.

"We were so worried!" Abbott cried. "That thing could have _killed_ you. You were _so_ lucky it didn't. How did you get away?"

Harry explained in vague detail his escape. The Weasley twins holding the bludger off while he escaped to the bathroom and set the ward Snape showed him. This got the attention of both Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff alike and he wound up spending a good chunk of the study session demonstrating the charm and teaching it to a few of the other students.

Neville, astonishingly, was one of the first to get the ward right. He cast it on his satchel. It only stayed in place for a few seconds before the magic fizzed out, but Harry didn't think he'd ever seen the boy look more proud.

"It's so hard!" Abbott cried, after her seventh failed attempt. "How do you make it look so easy?"

Harry shrugged. He thought about mentioning the magical meditation thing, and how it improved control of his magical core, but he'd have a hard time explaining where he learned about it. "Keep practicing. It takes time and practice to develop control over your magical core. You'll get there."

"It's a really cool spell, though," Terry Boot said, reading through the book on basic wards that he'd found the spell in. "Professor Snape is right, it's probably a third year spell, in terms of difficulty. It doesn't make sense not to teach it to students until seventh year, just because it's a ward. It has so many applications!"

Sue Li nodded. "We should talk to Flitwick about it. Maybe he'll consider staggering the warding practicals through the years. That way we can learn more of them."

Justin Finch-Fletchley stared at them in dismay. "You don't think we're already learning _enough_?"

The Ravenclaw's looked at him as if he were utterly mad.

By the time they eventually got around to studying, Nott and Zabini's had moved the conversation with Hermione on. "What did I miss?" Harry asked.

"Oh, nothing much," Hermione said, with a quick glance toward Zabini. "Harry, uh, would you help me with this transfiguration homework? I was looking at the essay question and I wondered..." Hermione proceeded to then ramble on about the variables and where he'd found his reading and what books he'd recommend.

They stopped when time came for their Sunday Lunch, wandering down to the Great Hall together and waving goodbye as they separated to their House tables.

When Harry sat down, Draco was looking a little more disheveled than usual. His hair was mussed and his robes were skewed and a little untidy, with fluff and fur sticking to them.

Harry lifted a brow. "What have you been up to?"

Draco shrugged, grabbing a couple slices of beef. "Nothing much. Oh! I heard back from mother. She booked an appointment with Francois Jacobs on the Sunday 14th December."

Harry blinked at him. "Is that name supposed to mean something to me?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Francois Jacobs is _the best_ designer and tailor you can find for dress robes in Britain. We need to have you measured for something before the Ball, after all."

Harry frowned. "How am I supposed to go to the appointment?"

Draco waved the worry away. "It's on a weekend. You only need Professor Snape's permission to leave the school grounds, so long as you are chaperoned by a teacher. Bumblebore need never know."

Harry nodded slowly. "Uh, I suppose."

"We're going to have to get you more clothes, of course," Draco continued. "Casual wear, formal wear, a traveling cloak, that sort of thing. But that will have to wait. The dress robes are the most pressing issue."

"Why do I need formal wear if I'm getting dress robes? Aren't they the same thing?"

To Draco, this was clearly a terrible, awful, heinous sign of the worst ignorance of basic fashion principles. The blonde spent the entire dinner and walk back to the common room explaining to Harry, in detail, how much of an idiot he would look showing up to an important meeting in Gringotts, or the Ministry, in a _dress robe_.

When they sat down in the common room, Draco suddenly stopped his tirade as he stared over Harry's shoulder. "Ah," Draco said, "I'll just be a second."

Harry watched with intrigue while Draco climbed to his feet and moved towards their dorm room, where Zabini and Nott were now all-too-casually stepping inside.

Harry narrowed his eyes at the sight, until he was distracted by a disgruntled chewing sound coming from the sofa opposite him.

Crabbe and Goyle were determinedly gnawing their way through a hard mound of beige foodstuff that was vividly familiar.

"Are those... rock cakes?" Harry asked.

The two boys blinked at him and shrugged. "D'acoo gove um thoo ush," Crabbe replied.

"Thrr arright," Goyle added.

Harry scowled suspiciously over at the dorm room door. He felt tempted to go spy on his mysterious friend, but he had someone to see. So, instead, he used his friend's absence as a means to sneak out the common room without his self-appointed bodyguards.

#

The tracking spell was easy enough to set up. Almost too easy, at this point. Severus had performed so many of them on various subjects of his spy work that it was as effortless as an Accio.

Concealing the tracking spell was the hard part. In this case, he'd mostly needed to conceal from others who might wish to meddle with it, but it was still a delicate business.

It was the warning system, however, which took the most work. Severus had found a few options, but none of them were particularly easy to cast. He suspected that there were more effective Blood Magic spells, but he'd never found many books on the subject over the years. Mostly because he'd never had never bothered to look.

"So, you're going to spy on me?" Harry frowned at him, arms folded as he scowled at Severus, who was performing the necessary tracking and monitoring spells on the lily bracelet he'd gifted the Harry so many months ago.

"I promise you, Harry, that I have better things to do with my time than monitor your every move," Severus said. They were sitting in the hidden classroom, in their armchairs with a pot of tea on the coffee table between them. "However, I have come to the conclusion that you are too danger prone for me not to implement some form of emergency tracker."

Harry huffed, rolling his eyes. "You're overreacting."

Severus glowered back at the boy. "I believe I'm reacting perfectly adequately to you being almost maimed twice in a fortnight."

Harry's cheeks reddened ever so slightly. Then he shoved his sheepishness down in order to continue pouting like a brat. "This is an invasion of privacy."

Severus rolled his eyes. "Your privacy, I'm afraid, means a great deal less to me than your life," he flicked his wand and the last of the spells. "There, it is done. I ask that you keep this on you at all times. You may not like it, but if you _at all_ value your life, you will do so. If you are in a position of peril, or suffering any danger or injury whatsoever, simply say the word 'auxilium' and the bracelet will inform me and alert me, with your location, enabling me to come to your aid. In return, I agree not to needlessly abuse the ability to find your location, unless absolutely necessary."

Harry huffed, then nodded, taking the bracelet and slipping it back on his wrist. "Okay, sir. I'll wear it."

"Thank you. Now, say the activation word and we can test it."

Harry nodded. " _Auxilium._ "

Severus felt a tug in his magical core and a sudden understanding wash over him, of Harry's exact location. It was an odd sensation. He waved his wand, muttering an incantation and the feeling dissipated. "Excellent."

Harry hesitated for a moment, a reluctant curiosity on his face. "Uh, sir..." he paused, "do you really think someone in the school is out to kill me?"

Severus hesitated, a bitter taste on his tongue. "There have been people out to get you since they day you were born. It is not unlikely that one of them made it through the wards of Hogwarts."

Harry seemed to dip at that. A reluctant acceptance. He swallowed and looked up. "Who?"

Severus winced. "I cannot be certain that I am correct. It is integral that you keep my suspicions to yourself and occlude whenever necessary."

Harry straightened and nodded.

Severus sighed. "Quirrell."

Harry's eyes widened and he stared at Severus as if the Potions Master had lost his mind. "Are you joking?"

He huffed. "No."

Harry blinked and stared across at the wall, as if sorting through all his previous interactions with the DADA Professor. "Huh," he murmured, "uh, okay. _Why_ do you suspect Quirrell?"

Severus rolled his eyes. "For one, his stutter is fake. I know the sound of a real stutter and his is decidedly _not_. Secondly, he began acting erratically after he'd returned from a career break traveling the world. I suspect he gathered more on his trip than turbans and a lingering obsession with garlic. Thirdly, he is the one who lost control of the troll in the first place."

"What!" Harry barked, stunned. "How do you know?"

"Because he admitted as much in the staff meeting," Severus said. "He was required to bring the troll into the castle for a project of the Headmaster's and apparently under-dosed the thing. He apologized profusely for the blunder, but it's obvious to me that it was planned. He obviously used it as a distraction, which I proved when I caught the bastard trying to get past my wards on the third floor corridor. I was on my way back when I found out about your life being jeopardized by the _fool's_ plans," Severus hissed the last part with a malignant fury. "He's _very_ lucky I still let him live."

Harry grimaced and nodded. "So he... he's after the thing the cerberus is guarding."

"I believe so," Severus said.

"But he also, for some reason, might want to kill me?"

"Possibly."

"Why?"

Severus paused, his gaze softening as he stared at Harry with a grim unease. "I'm not sure," he said. "But whatever the answer, I suspect the Headmaster already knows."

Harry flinched, his hands gripping into fists. "And he's still letting Quirrell work here?"

Severus nodded.

Harry closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. It was a few more moments before he opened his eyes. "I see," he said. "So, we're on our own?"

Severus nodded. "For now."

Harry grinned. "For now."

The Potions Master's lips twitched with a smirk. He brushed a piece of lint off his robes and folded his hands atop one another. "On that note," he said, "Lucius has requested I arrange a sit-down on the 21st. So we will have to hash out the talking points for the alliance over the coming weeks. You had word from him?"

Harry nodded, reaching into his bag and handing over the letter. He waited for a little while, as Snape read. Then the man snorted suddenly, and chuckled to himself. " _'Modest though they may be'_. Lucius hasn't been modest a day in his life."

Harry pursed his lips to resist grinning. "I was worrying about that counter-point he made. I think it's probably too vague."

"Undoubtedly," Snape said. "Likely a small form of test, but don't doubt he'd take advantage of your unwittingly agreeing to support of his every political whim, if he deemed it necessary. Though I know some full grown adults who'd still fall for this trap, so you should be proud of noticing it."

Harry straightened a little in his seat. "I was thinking of suggesting, as an alternative, support in ending the unjust raid and seizure of the old families property. It's already something I feel strongly about."

"It is?" Snape looked up.

Harry shrugged. "It is just causing more animosity, and that feeds into the Dark Lord's cause."

Snape hummed and nodded, turning back to the letter. "You're correct. People who feel comfortable in their positions of power don't often join revolutions. They don't need to. That's likely why Lucius Malfoy is turning away from the Dark Lord. He has worked hard to undo the damage that his father and grandfather did to the House of Malfoy and now sits in a position of some great influence. If he joined the Dark Lord's cause now, it would only be to protect his family."

Harry nodded. "So you think that would make a good counter-point?"

"I believe it could. You may need to hash out a point which explains that future political agreements to be arranged ad hoc, upon mutual agreement. But check Draco's collection for that, I'm certain he'll have books with suggestions for wording."

"Already on it."

"Of course you are," Snape smiled at him.

"I was also thinking," Harry began, chewing his lip, "we might need to come up with a way to make sure the alliance is linked to me and my kin, and not just the House of Potter."

Snape's eyes lit with a realization. "Of course," he whispered, then huffed and sighed, "I don't know how I missed that. If you turn out not to be legally acknowledged as James Potter's son and heir of the House of Potter..."

"The agreement is void," Harry finished. "So we need to make sure that we don't wind up with Lucius Malfoy being able to null the agreement at a technicality, if the wind shifts."

"I have no doubt he was planning to hold that in his pocket as an emergency exit, in case he needed to rejoin the Dark Lord's cause. Well spotted," Snape said with a proud grin. Harry's seemed to lift with delight and a smile itched across his face. "Have you had time to build bridges with other heirs?"

Harry nodded, straightening and smiling. "I set up a Inter-House football game, to break down barriers with the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. It was a big hit. A bunch of us met today for a Inter-House study group. Around a dozen people."

Snape's brows rose. "Well done. Does anybody stand out?"

"Susan Bones," Harry said. "She seems quite open minded. I think there's potential there for something. Maybe not a formal alliance, but a friendship, at least. It helps that Susan is actually really nice to talk to. We agree on a fair bit, actually."

Snape hummed and sat back. "Her aunt is no fan of mine, for obvious reasons, but she has not been overly hostile to any of the suspected members of the Dark Lord's faction. More focused on systemic reform than punishing those Death Eaters incorrectly found innocent due to corruption. She is respected. Fairly neutral."

"I think there's hope there," Harry said. "Like I said, maybe not a formal alliance, but if I'm friends with Susan, it might be helpful to our future plans. Madam Bones isn't an ally with Dumbledore and it sounds like she avoided his inner circle."

Snape nodded. "She was an instrumental non-partisan member of the Ministry during and after the war. She's always been more level headed than her associates in the Ministry. Acknowledging the fears of both sides and working for the betterment of all, while maintaining a steady grounding among the Light and Grey alliance block. I think she understood, better than Albus ever did, how dangerous demonization of your fellow man can be."

"Susan said more or less something similar, actually," Harry said. "I think there's hope there. Especially since Susan is a good influence on the other Hufflepuffs. She's very level-headed. They respect her. I think that if I keep trying break down the House boundaries, she could help a few more students to see the same."

"You both could," Snape said. "She with the Light-aligned houses and you with the Dark."

"Hopefully," Harry said. "Zabini and Nott _did_ come to the Inter-House study group today. I think they were doing it to keep an eye on me for Draco, but they chatted with Hermione for at least half an hour."

Snape started and blinked at him. "Civilly?"

Harry nodded.

Snape frowned. "Well, that's highly suspicious."

"I know!" Harry cried, appearing vindicated. "So I'm _not_ just being paranoid. They're up to something, I swear. They were way too interested in Hermione's research of the Prosequor Charm. She thinks that was what was set on the bludger. Plus, I'm pretty sure that Draco went to visit Hagrid today," the boy huffed, as if regretting making that introduction in the first place. Severus had to admit he wouldn't have recommended introducing someone as liable to leak information as Reubus Hagrid, to someone as nosy as the youngest Malfoy. "I think Draco is trying to run his own investigation. I think he's probably worried that if I know about it, I'll tell you and you'll put a stop to it."

Snape nodded slowly. "Keep an eye out," he said. "And keep my suspicions about Quirrell to yourself. I don't think Draco can be trusted to act rationally with the information right now."

Harry wholeheartedly agreed.

#

On Monday 9th, Snape called a meeting for full attendance in the Slytherin common room that evening. When the Professor stepped through the hidden entrance, the place was brimming full of Slytherins, whispering and murmuring excitedly with one another.

Harry sat silently among his friends while the Potions Master surveyed the room with a calm, chilled glance. He didn't visit the common room often, but he always seemed to know what was going on in here. Whether people were up past curfew, leaving their homework to the last minute or plotting revenge on the Gryffindors.

"As some of you know," Snape began folding his arms and glancing across at the upper years, "despite our last day of class falling on Friday 20th December, the school board believes it better to push the end of term Hogwarts Express journey forward to Monday, the 23rd of the month."

He paused as his gaze swept across to the pure-blood students in the room and lingered. It took Harry a moment to realize why.

 _Yule,_ Harry remembered. _Yule is on the 21_ _st_ _._

"This is not the first time they've done this and _do not_ believe it will be the last," Snape said. "There is, however, room in the charter for myself to personally escort students to their homes, via my personal Floo, for reasons of mental health. If you wish to go home _early_ , I suggest you come by my office this week and explain to me how much stress you have been under this term, or how homesick you have been feeling, and what a relief it would be to see your loved ones _before_ the 23rd. I will be escorting students back by Floo, on the evening of the 20th and the morning of the 21st. These times will be arranged randomly, and I suggest you refrain from attempting any form of bribery to change the date, as it is more likely to work against you.

"If you wish to go home early, but your family haven't a Floo, a number of the older students have families that are willing to open their homes for those looking to come home early for the holidays. Simply explain the circumstances to myself and we will arrange something. Now, for those who wish to stay in Hogwarts for the holidays, please step forward and I will put your names down."

Harry rose from his seat, thinking he'd be the only one, then out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Theo and Mill standing and moving to follow.

Harry frowned at them. "What are you doing?"

"Staying for the holidays," said Mill.

"Why?"

They shrugged.

"More books here," Theo explained.

Harry frowned at them. "Draco made you, didn't he?"

"I picked it out a hat," Mill said.

"Not me," Theo admitted. "I just wanted the library to myself."

Harry huffed, then turned to Mill. "This is ridiculous! Don't let Draco bully you into sticking around. I'm fine."

"Someone literally tried to kill you," Theo pointed out, brow lifted.

"That doesn't mean you should get to miss out on Christmas with your loved ones. I've got ways of protecting myself. I can stay close to the trustworthy teachers and prefects, stick to the library and common room." He turned to Mill. "Look, I'll feel like crap if you're stuck here with me instead of seeing your family."

Mill huffed. "It's not a big deal, Harry. I only really enjoyed Christmas because I got to see Gramps and Gram. They're not around anymore, so..." she shrugged again.

"But your mum's gonna miss you," he said. Harry knew better than to mention Mill's dad. She always got grumpy when the wizard was brought up. "I _know_ you'll want to be there with her."

Mill softened a bit at that, eyes just barely glittering with regret. She sank as the point hit home. Harry knew Mill wouldn't want her mum spending the holidays alone with her father. Not after her mother's parents had just passed away.

Theo nudged her. "Leave it to me, Mill. I've got this."

She sighed and nodded. "Thanks," she smiled sadly at them, then peered over at Draco. "I'll go give our blonde tyrant the bad news."

She wandered off while Harry and Theo approached Snape.

"Problem?" The Professor asked, gaze lingering on the furiously hissing Draco in the corner of the room.

"Nope," Harry said, signing his name, then handing the Quill to Theo, who signed underneath.

After that, Draco kept threatening to stay at Hogwarts for the holidays, and he was _very_ serious. Twice Harry had needed to stop him from storming over to Snape's office to have his name put down.

"Someone needs to keep an eye on you!" Draco hissed as he collapsed next to Harry on the sofa. "Theo isn't enough!"

"Theo is more than enough. Theo is a little terrifying," Harry admitted. On the chair opposite, the corner of Theo's mouth twitched up, never once looking up from his book. "Besides, are you completely forgetting that Snape will be around for the holidays?" Harry pointed out. "Do you not remember the whole point of me wanting to stay here for Christmas?"

Draco sank at that. "But someone could catch you in the halls, or set a trap!"

"Someone could do that anyway," Harry pointed out. "It doesn't matter if you have half the first years guarding me or none of them, someone could still try something. You can't eliminate the danger altogether by sheer force of will. We've got to just be smart and prepared."

Draco rolled his eyes and pouted. "You've got absolutely no sense of self-preservation. It's ridiculous. I blame the influence of all those bloody Gryffindors."

Harry smirked a little and nudged his friend's shoulder. "I'll be fine," he whispered, smiling at his worried friend.

Draco grumbled and elbowed Harry back. "You better be."

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> Thanks again for all the lovely comments and kudos. I hope you know that they really makes my day, so please continue.
> 
> I've decided to take more time than usual between this chapter and the next. I'm sorry about the delay, but the Christmas break section has a lot of major thematic shifts in it and I want to be able to get them right before I commit by publishing it on here. So, for that reason, the next update will likely be on the 12th March. I may publish sooner if the drafts get finished sooner than I expected, but if not I will try and get what I can out then.
> 
> Thank you again, stay safe and I'll see you on Friday the 12th March.
> 
> ❤️❤️❤️


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